





] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelfi?..5:S.'].2) ? 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

























/ 









0 


1 # 




> 



i 


I 






« 


I 



.. 






V 











•u # 






h » 


KJ. 


>^®K V 


-AV 








j * 






TWi'U' 







» j*' 




f • >• 


3l: 




<rr, 




.cr 


■|yS 








<?. 






•ilC. ’/V. * '■ 










fS 






>•, '■• 


^1 y 


*t 




.fi' 








j- 


U7 


•' ^ .* 


% > 


-i 

. ' K5»iP.‘' i 





•4L» 




vX‘:-(, 




■ \ 


'J 5 








bfC 


*' 


V, 


r. - 






t' 


■> I*. M 


,t 


•-♦* 4 1 


yj? 


rr- ^ 




iK* 






■/ 




iy^j 


.4 ^ 


v» 


Mi 


v\> 


m 


p 


u 




i 


^ ■■ ft '-■ ■;, ■'-, 

’ Vi** * 

-fcji 

!■»’ • • • • 


£■; 






9^, 




^ T 


>4 




0 


<- 


X-- 


A 




>-:;v 


‘w* 


ir V’ 


,^1 




S 


.'X Ti 




'■n 




1 






-v> 






^1 


V. 


^5 


^ 'I 


V 


I* -. 


ni- 


iXU, 






A 








^w;i JyX i^ 

m V- 




i^/'h-3!w 1 i - 

It 


1 


i;i^^ 


If 


i*<r- 




kX' 


f V 




r ■ » 






k';»/. 


•*/*i 




^ I 


■ If ' -f^‘ip 






. .y . i< 

ii j j**-/j,A 


'V: 


:w 






:''i' 


'< ri 


^S'lfe"'' 


I 






- ’ 1 




* V 






•>71m 


















'‘^J 


t-CT 




L< 


'«l 




t^- 






> *, 


1^ 


■VlCi 


r^' . - 














• ' • *'• ►% 



i^. -t:'. tt^ s. . -- .. 

p^ -- 1 j* * . 





rsiia ^'r TTl^i" ig-o-T j ^ j a 




**► «Ttf- «. * '•«* — /c . - •f**!*^ « e* ^ ‘ “ *,%5fcjf < .’ 4UflC •• 

l^^--;*i^^:>?•.■‘v:J.v^•Tl..' . -r. v-^m7. ■ -/": 


»' * ■ 






a^^BHa wT *•• *■ i ' • • .. • ^= . ” ' ■ -. * • ••■• ■• ^ iT> A > a 

Mr? w. ■^-'' -'^ -iyV*.-^'*:'^ /■ . • *?-■•"'•■■ 

S' iH -•-'" i iv -r' * • ^">•v ju-vv-i j aH*- Hi .y 






LAw' 




V* 


^ j* 


U A 
t 


-;• i- 


.VI 

N 


4J 

- 




k *.^4i 

i®“ , * 

V -'v 




'^ ' '* "* -i * . ' f j ’ ‘ C 

^-' r -;^:-’Xr* • >’■ - '* 

-. ^-- ^ ^ ^4^ ■:,^i 

■■ te*^. /.- 





• * "> 






*> * 


• ■ ■ . * ^ ^ f 

^ ^ V ^ i*: 


-> v^ - */• jL 

• ■■ *lj'i-ir-~‘ * ^ 

■'i • ;: 5*Ci*"- 









Paths and By-'Paths. Frontispiece . 




PATHS AND BY-PATHS 


MRS. 



“And thine ears shall l^ear a Voice behind thee, 
saying, This is the Way, Walk ye j.n it. When ye turn 
to the right hand, and When ye turn to the left.” 

Isa. 30 : 21. 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 


10 EAST 23D STREET, NeWs^ORK. 




f 


COPYRIGHT, 1894, 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 


This little book is written with the hope 
that it may help young people to settle some 
of the many vexed questions of the day. 

It is written with the thought of the 
precepts and example of a wise father, who 
ever sought to incite a love for the good and 
an abhorrence of evil — and the memory of a 
loving mother, whose feet trod the narrow 
way gently and quietly, making the path 
bright by her unselfish love. 




GONTB-NTS 


CHAPTER I. 

Ruth and Richard page 9 

CHAPTER 11. 

New Acquaintances 20 

CHAPTER III. 

Chit-Chat 35 

CHAPTER IV. 

Aunt Ellen 43 

CHAPTER V. 

Old Questions Discussed 56 

CHAPTER VI. 

Home and Foreign Missions 76 

CHAPTER VII. 

Opinions and Convictions 97 

CHAPTER VIIL 

True to Conviction 108 

CHAPTER IX. 

Choosing 124 

CHAPTER X. 

141 


Separated 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XL 

New Scenes and New Friends.-- i54 

CHAPTER XII. 

Tested 167 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Mansions 186 

CHAPTER XIV. 

After Many Days 202 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Indian River 212 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Home Again 228 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Tried and True 237 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

News 245 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Merry 255 

CHAPTER XX. 

Sarah’s Experience 275 

CHAPTER XXL 

Wedding Bells 285 

CHAPTER XXII. 

At Last 295 


CONTENTS. 


7 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Through Darkness 314 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Better Way 329 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A Reunion 340 







*• * .M 




.^vtfi 





4^ 


« • 




tr^ 




, * 





::T^^ 




,. ' .■ . , =<3pirri^a 

'-'^^1^'* ' ■‘ ■' V"-’’ -• '-*" S'-^- ^-?-<l ^ J- . l' 



V 


Af 4^.» V* t» * •*. ■*; ■ ^v’ ^ > • ygM 



A 




* ' **.’S^ 


Itv^* ' ‘S' '^'■: '.' .»>"iiS.‘ 




•.% 






i\\ ^ 

i*"* 

»7^. ^ , ' --^t* i'^-> 


W~ T 


rA 


; • ' - • * 


. ^ CaTi 


*'JWiti i^' .»• 




I trv' . «v 


r^ 




PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER I. 

RUTH AND RICHARD. 

A YOUNG girl came slowly down the stairs 
and, passing through the open door, seated her- 
self in a hammock which was hung across the 
piazza. Her sweet face was unusually thought- 
ful. The summer air was filled with the per- 
fume of roses, great clusters of which, crimson, 
pink, and white, were nodding to each other 
just as, on a beautiful June morning fourteen 
years before, they had seemed with their bright- 
ness to welcome the wee stranger who for the 
first time opened her blue eyes on this great 
untried world. 

The garden was gay with many flowers, but 
the young girl in the hammock evidently was 
not thinking of them nor of the beautiful land- 
scape which stretched before her. 

“ Fourteen years old to-day,” she murmured, 
“ and mamma’s prayer unanswered !” 

Was fourteen years a long time to wait for 


10 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


an answered prayer? They had not seemed 
long to Ruth Livermore, the young girl swing- 
ing so slowly in the hammock. They had been 
very happy years, bringing to her all the plea- 
sure which abundant means, wisely directed by 
loving hands, could bring to any one. 

Gentle, affectionate, and considerate for oth- 
ers, Ruth had always been a “good child.’* 
Indeed, Mrs. Searles, who lived in the house 
opposite, said she “did not see why Dr. and 
Mrs. Livermore need be fussing all the time 
about Ruth ’s being a Christian. She was good 
enough as she was. For her part, she liked 
young people to have a good time and enjoy 
themselves.” And she was not very well 
pleased when, a little more than a year previous 
to this bright June day, her eldest daughter, 
about a year older than Ruth, told her that she 
was rejoicing in the forgiveness of sins. But as 
time went on she became reconciled, declaring 
that she did not see that Edith was much differ- 
ent from what she was before. 

Most of Ruth’s friends thought she must be a 
Christian, she was so good ; but the young girl 
herself was far from satisfied, and it was this 
which caused the shadow on her face as she 
swung slowly back and forth in the hammock 
on this bright June day. 

“ Oh,” she thought, “ if I only could tell mam- 


RUTH AND RICHARD. 


II 


ma to-day that her prayer has been answered ! I 
have tried and tried. What more can I do than 
I have done?” 

As her thoughts reached this climax a baby 
voice lisped, “ Air is ’oo, ’ister ? I ’s ’onesome.” 

Ruth stooped and lifted the three-years-old 
Daisy to her lap. The loving arms twined 
round her neck as the baby voice added, “Me 
’oves ’oo.” 

Ruth clasped the wee form closer as she 
replied, “ And sister loves her little Daisy.” 

“Yis, I know,” and the little one nestled 
trustingly in the enfolding arms. “ How sweet 
she is,” thought Ruth, “and how fully she be- 
lieves in my love !” and dimly there struggled 
into her mind a thought that she must trust the 
great love offered her in just the same way. 

Just then the gate clicked, a quick step ap- 
proached, and a lad, apparently about two years 
older than Ruth, ran lightly up the piazza steps 
whistling a gay tune. He possessed a highly 
intellectual face, full of good nature and an 
expression of content with himself and all the 
world. The laughing hazel eyes sobered with a 
look of admiration as he caught sight of the two 
figures in the hammock, and advancing with a 
low obeisance, half in fun but really expressing 
the homage he felt, he said, “ I came, fair lady, 
to wish you joy on this your natal day, and to 


12 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


bring a small tribute to express my good wishes 
and desire that the day may be the happiest you 
have ever known.” 

Ruth took the package with graceful ease 
and a hearty “Thank you,” but a thoughtful 
face. Removing the wrapper revealed a book 
of sacred poems interspersed with Scripture 
texts. She turned the leaves slowly, her mind 
still busy with the thoughts which had filled it 
before she was interrupted. The lad watched 
for a few moments, his own face growing grave 
in sympathy with hers. 

“ If your countenance is an index to your 
feelings,” he said after a little, “ it does not prog- 
nosticate a very joyous year. May I ask the 
cause of your disquietude ?” 

“Oh, Richard, I do want to be a Christian !” 
The deep blue eyes filled with tears as she 
raised them to his face. 

“Well, Ruth, why don’t you?” 

“ I do not know how.” 

“ It is only to love and trust.” 

Only. How simple it seemed to him ; how 
impossible to her ! Mechanically she turned the 
leaves of the book, her thoughts still busy, when 
suddenly her eye caught the words of an illumi- 
nated text showing, in letters of delicate tint on 
the creamy page, words containing the fullest 
love ever expressed : “ God so loved the world 


RUTH AND RICHARD. 


13 


that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
ever believeth in him should not perish, but 
have everlasting life.” “ Believeth in him,” she 
repeated to herself ; can it be possible that I do 
not believe ?” and then those other words, “ He 
that believeth on me hath everlasting life,” came 
to her mind. Slowly she repeated the word 
“ hat hr Vaguely at first, but with the repeat- 
ing, it took new form and meaning. Hath ; 
why, that is in the present tense. Hath what ? 
Everlasting life — not feeling.” Like a flash came 
the thought, “ If I believe, I have it ; and if I al- 
ready possess it there is nothing more for me 
to do. I do believe,” she said aloud. 

Believe what?” Daisy inquired. 

That God is my Father, and Jesus my Sa- 
viour, to love and trust,” and the blue eyes 
shone through tears of joy, and the glad light 
came back to her friend’s eyes as he said, “ I 
am so glad, Ruth.” 

They chatted a few moments longer, and 
then Ruth, taking her little sister by the hand, 
sought her mother. There was rejoicing around 
the family altar that night, for the long-offered 
prayer was answered. 

Ruth was anxious to unite with the church 
at once. She persuaded her dearest friend, 
Edith Searles, to go with her. Edith, as we 
have seen, had been converted a year previous, 


14 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


but had waited, she hardly knew why — only that 
there was much waiting in her life, for she took 
everything quietly. But she found no excuse to 
offer when Ruth urged that we were to believe 
in our hearts and confess with our lips. 

So one quiet Sabbath morning in August 
they publicly announced their faith in a risen 
Saviour, and stood with bowed heads while the 
minister prayed that they might be kept “un- 
spotted from the world.” Ruth never forgot 
that hour nor her walk home. The minutest 
details were indelibly stamped upon her mind. 
The flicker of the sunshine through the gently 
stirring leaves, the music of the water as it rip- 
pled against the pebbles on the bank of the little 
stream by which her way led, the nodding wild 
flowers, and the songs of tiny birds, were so pho- 
tographed upon her mind, though not aware at 
the time that she noticed them, that years after 
they came vividly before her. 

That night, Ruth’s father called her to him 
and said, “ Remember, my daughter, that bap- 
tismal waters never dry. You will meet trials, 
possibly persecutions. Life’s pathway will not 
always be lined with flowers, but you are no 
longer to tread it alone ; and the promise is for 
those who endure to the end.” 

She kissed her father, her heart too full of 
happiness for speech. 


RUTH AND RICHARD. 


15 


At the same time, in the house across the 
way, Mrs. Searles was saying, We shall see 
now if you and Ruth are any different ; though, 
for my part, I thought you were good enough 
before. I do not see much difference, any way, 
between Christians and other folks, excepting in 
a few who seem to think it is wicked to have 
a good time.” 

“ Poor encouragement,” thought Edith, her 
mind reverting to the text of the morning. “ I 
should never dare to tell mamma the path I 
have chosen. She would never give her con- 
sent. It will be much easier for Ruth to live a 
Christian life than for me. How sweet and 
good she is ! The text says, ‘ Thou wilt show 
me the path of life.' If I am not careful I shall 
get out of it altogether and wander in some by- 
path.” 

Mrs. Searles, watching daily, saw only two 
merry, happy girls. She knew nothing of the 
sweetness or soundness of the inner life which 
gave added zest to all their enjoyments. 

And so the happy summer days flitted by. 
The sweet summer flowers were fading, and the 
gay ones of early autumn taking their place, 
when Ruth opened the door of the sewing-room 
one afternoon where her mother and Mrs. Searles 
sat chatting. “ I am going to the woods with 
Richard,” she said, nodding to Mrs. Searles and 


1 6 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

looking for her mother’s approval. Mrs. Liver- 
more’s reply was a smile. 

More soberly than usual Ruth and Richard 
pursued their way towards the woods, for both 
felt sad at the thought of the ''good-bye” to 
be spoken. 

Richard Stearns was the eldest son of the 
pastor of the little church of which the Liver- 
mores were members. He was bright and 
sprightly, with a merry countenance. He was 
passionately fond of his studies, and possessed 
an inquiring turn of mind which would allow 
him to accept very unwillingly things which he 
could not understand. When a child he was in 
the habit of dissecting his toys to discover their 
mechanism. Bringing the same propensity to 
the Bible, he plied his father with questions 
which no one could answer, until that good man 
was almost in despair. 

It was a long time before Richard could be 
made to understand that the way of salvation 
was clear and plain, but when convinced he 
seemed to accept it wholly. 

After uniting with the church he was to all 
appearance the same merry boy as before, enter- 
ing heartily into all boyish sports, giving and 
receiving a joke with zest, and pursuing his 
studies with a will which conquered all before 
him. 


RUTH AND RICHARD. 


17 

He had been Ruth’s companion and cham- 
pion ever since she could remember. His sled 
was at her service in winter, and his umbrella 
protected her from the summer showers. To- 
gether in the early spring they had hunted the 
shy violets and had gathered the latest flowers 
of autumn. It was Richard who shook the 
branches of the nut-trees for her, filled her bas- 
ket, and helped her crack and eat the nuts dur- 
ing the long winter evenings. Now, he was to 
leave home for a year, and Ruth, thinking of 
these pleasant times, wondered if they would 
end with his going. 

They crossed the field back of her father’s 
house and seated themselves upon a rustic 
bench under the spreading branches of an elm- 
tree at the entrance of the wood. The golden- 
rod nodded its graceful plumes as if to welcome 
well-known friends. The purple asters lifted 
their bright faces as if to greet them. The 
maple-trees were taking on hues of crimson, 
gold and olive. 

Ruth was the first to break the silence. 
“ The squirrels will have undisputed possession 
of the nuts this year as far as I am concerned.” 

The face beside her sobered. “ I am both 
glad and sorry to leave Linden,” its owner re- 
plied. “ Glad, because I shall have advantages 
for study impossible for me here, and sorry to 

Paths and By-Paths. 2 


1 8 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

leave home and you. I am afraid I shall find 
it more difficult to be good in college than in 
this quiet little village. You must write often, 
Ruth, and be my faithful mentor in the future 
as you have been in the past. Letters will not 
fill your place, but they will be next to your 
presence — only you have not told me that you 
v/ill write.” 

‘‘ Certainly ; I will answer all your letters.” 

“ Take care ! That may prove a rash prom- 
ise. I shall undoubtedly keep you busy for the 
next three years. I am glad that I can enter one 
year in advance, and so return to dear old Lin- 
den so much sooner. Do you remember the first 
epistle I ever penned to you ?” 

“Yes, and that was lead-pencilled,” she re- 
plied, smiling at the memory, “ and immediately 
confiscated by Miss Hay ; and we both lost our 
recess for breaking the rules.” 

They spoke of many a “ do n’t you remem- 
ber,” bringing back childishly happy and inno- 
cent days, and then sought to look into the 
future so mercifully veiled from them, until 
the sun sank behind the western hills, drawing 
round him a mantle of golden clouds. The 
shadows began to lengthen, and then in the 
gloaming the two quietly wended their way 
home. 

Richard always remembered Ruth as she 


RUTH AND RICHARD. 


19 


stood on. the piazza of her father’s house that 
evening, her hand in his, in the “good-bye” 
clasp, the soft breeze gently lifting the rings 
of golden - brown hair from her forehead, a 
shadow in the deep blue eyes and a tremble 
in the lips which had just said farewell. 

The crickets were chirping mournfully and 
the shadows had deepened as she entered the 
house, and she speculated as to whether they 
were prophetic, and wished the “ good-bye ” had 
been spoken while the sun shone. And Edith, 
standing at the gate across the way, wondered 
why Richard did not think of her just enough to 
speak one passing word. And he, walking slow- 
ly, forgot to whistle, and felt that he was leaving 
the known and the tried for the unknown and 
the untried. 


20 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER II. 

NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 

People passing through the little village of 
Linden exclaimed, “ What a beautiful place !” 
Their encomiums were merited. The main street 
was broad, and bordered on each side by fine old 
shade-trees. At the upper end of it stood the 
church and parsonage, both covered during the 
summer with clinging vines. Opposite was the 
Academy, a “ Select School for Girls,” with 
pleasant grounds and blooming flowers. 

A little this side of the church was the home 
of Ruth. Dr. Livermore had spared no pains to 
make it in every sense a pleasant place. The 
house was large and roomy, standing in the 
midst of extensive grounds where gay flowers 
blossomed in the garden from early spring until 
the late frosts of autumn. Back of the house 
was the copse which the children had dignified 
with the name of “ the woods,” and where they 
had passed many happy hours. 

The sun was shining brightly when Ruth 
awoke the morning after the farewell to Rich- 
ard. If shadows lingered in her heart she had 
no time to give them place, as school com- 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 2 1 

menced that day ; and so it happened that the 
same hour which saw Richard pacing the plat- 
form of the station in the city, waiting for the 
train which was to take him to new scenes, saw 
Ruth and Edith entering the Academy grounds. 
A group of girls stood under the shade of one 
of the trees evidently discussing some object of 
interest. 

Oh, girls !” exclaimed Ethel Rhodes, as Ruth 
and Edith came within speaking distance, “ did 
you know that some one had bought the old 
Fay place on the cross-road ?” 

A surprised negative gratified the inquirer. 

“Well, there has,” said Bessie White, “and 
they are coming here to school.” 

“The whole family?” inquired Marie May, 
whose sunny disposition and bright ways had 
won for her the sobriquet of “ Merry.” 

“According to all accounts^ there is need of 
it,” replied Ethel. 

“They are immensely wealthy and aristo- 
cratic,” added Bessie, who was fond of telling 
news. “We are going to call on them as soon 
as they are settled. You know we are neigh- 
bors.” The last with an air of importance. 

“ So is Nannie Bartlett, and she has called 
already,” mischievously added Merry. 

“ You !” said Bessie, turning to a tall, hand- 
some girl, who stood a little apart from the oth- 


22 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


ers. Her dress was very plain, but one forgot 
the attire in looking at the wearer. Her eyes 
were large, dark, and brilliant, her features fine, 
her whole attitude and bearing one which com- 
manded attention. 

“Their name is Carter,” she said, stepping 
forward, “and they came from New York city. 
They have had the Fay place put in order — you 
know it was always beautiful — and three weeks 
ago loads of goods came from the city.” 

“ ‘ The Carters were carting,’ ” interpolated 
Merry. 

Not heeding the interruption Nannie con- 
tinued : “About two weeks ago as their carriage 
passed our house a package fell from it. I 
picked it up and found it addressed to Miss 
Sarah Carter. Of course there was no way but 
for me to walk the somewhat long distance and 
return it. I rang the bell and the door was 
opened by a pompous-looking colored man, who, 
in reply to my inquiry if I could see Miss Car- 
ter, hesitated, and finally asked if I could not 
give the message to him.” 

“ Did you go in?” inquired Edith. 

“Yes; I had the honor to stand in the hall 
while he called the young lady.” 

“Was it not elegant?” inquired Bessie 
eagerly. 

“That is as you count elegance. Doors 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


23 


Opened from all directions into the hall, and the 
rooms seemed to be filled and overflowing with 
color — bright carpets, gorgeous draperies, and 
gay furniture. Miss Carter soon made her ap- 
pearance and I gave her the package. She took 
it, looked at it, then at me, and asked if I lived 
in the small house at the entrance of their 
grounds. I answered in the affirmative, and 
informed her of what she probably knew — that 
it was formerly the porter’s lodge.” 

“ Brave Nannie,” said Ruth, speaking for 
the first time. 

“She evidently did not know what to do 
with me,” continued Nannie, laughing slightly ; 
but the laugh ended in a scornful curl of the 
proud lip and an ominous flash of the eyes. 

“ Oh, what did she do ?” chorussed a number 
of voices. 

“Took out her pocket-book and offered me 
fifty cents.” 

Nannie’s voice was drowned by exclama- 
tions, “ How horrid !” “ The idea !” and then, 

as a handsome equipage drove in sight, the voice 
changed, exclaiming, “ There they come !” 

“ Had n’t we better go into the school-room ?” 
said Ruth. “ It may embarrass them to see so 
many strangers standing directly in their way,” 
and suiting the action to the word she passed 
up the steps, followed by Nannie. 


'24 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“No danger but they will run the gauntlet 
all right/' said Merry, as two showily - dressed 
girls entered 'the gate. Merry’s supposition 
proved correct, for they passed the group with 
the utmost-self possession and evident self-com- 
placency, with fluttering ribbons and jingling 
bangles. 

“ ‘ Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,’ ” 
quoted Merry, expressively if not elegantly, as 
the two girls entered the door. The bell ringing 
at that moment prevented further comments. 

At recess the girls gathered in groups, no 
one excepting Bessie seeming inclined to make 
the acquaintance of the strangers until Ruth, 
who had been detained in the school-room a 
few moments, came out. She went to them at 
once, with an ease and grace which were innate. 

“Your names are Carter, I believe,” she said, 
“ and mine is Livermore ; Ruth Livermore.” 

The Misses Carter were very gracious. 
“ Your father is the celebrated Dr. Livermore, 
is he not?” said Sarah, the elder of the two, 
“ and you live in the handsome white house a 
short distance below here?” 

Ruth bowed, and introduced Edith. Just 
then Nannie came down the steps, and Ruth 
laid a detaining hand on her arm as she was 
passing. “ This is my friend. Miss Bartlett,” 
she said, with an almost imperceptible em- 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 2 5 

phasis on the word friend. “ I think you have 
met her before.” 

What could Miss Carter do? Was it possible, 
she asked herself, that she had made a mistake, 
and that this handsome girl with the plain dress 
really was “ somebody ” ? Ruth called her 
“ friend.” Miss Carter bowed graciously — Nan- 
nie distantly, but gracefully. Nannie Bartlett 
was never anything but graceful. 

A slight pause of embarrassment followed, 
broken by Ruth asking Sarah what studies she 
intended to take. 

“ Oh, the higher branches, especially the lan- 
guages. I dote on Latin.” 

Speaking of Latin reminds me,” said Merry. 
“ Mrs. Temple is going to offer a prize to the 
one who is most proficient in Latin at the end of 
the term. I quote her own words : said ‘ prize 
to consist of Dickens’ complete works, bound in 
cloth. Time to be six months, or until close of 
the term.’ ” 

“ How came you to be possessed of so much 
more information on the subject than the other 
girls?” inquired Sarah. 

“ Madame boards with us,” replied Merry 
promptly. 

“Oh,” said Sarah, hesitatingly, “does your 
mother take boarders ?” 

“ Well, you see,” Merry’s tone was full of 


26 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


mischief, “ the poor lady must live somewhere, 
and as none of our aristocratic neighbors would 
take her we were forced to.” 

“Well, about the prize — what else?” con- 
tinued Edith. 

“ Mrs. Temple will tell you herself to- 
morrow. I wonder who will win it !” 

“ Not you,” said Ethel Rhodes ; “ you cannot 
concentrate your thoughts on anything for five 
consecutive minutes, to say nothing of six 
months.” 

“ I am amazed at your wonderful prescience,” 
retorted Merry. “ Suppose you continue to ex- 
ercise it, and tell us whawill receive it.” 

“ Queen Nan, of course.” 

Sarah Carter started, and inwardly resolved 
that it should not be so. 

As the two sisters walked home after the 
close of school that day Sarah said, “ What are 
we going to do with that Bartlett girl ?” 

“ Do with her !” repeated Mary. 

“ Mary Carter, will you ever cease to be a 
simpleton ? Do n’t you know that our money 
places us in a* high position and we cannot as- 
sociate with any one so common ?” 

“ Look out that you do not make a mistake. 
Money is not the only thing that gives posi- 
tion.” 

“It is the only thing which will ever give 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


27 


you one, Mary Carter, unless you are more care- 
ful whom you choose for associates. I shall pat- 
ronize Nannie Bartlett because she is Ruth 
Livermore’s friend.” 

“ I do not believe you will,” retorted Mary. 
“ Look out, Sarah, that the patronizing does not 
come the other way. Nannie Bartlett will not 
stand any person’s nonsense.” 

“ Well, she shall not have that prize if I can 
help it. I will make her great eyes snap more 
than they ever have yet before I get through 
with her,” with which kind remark Sarah re- 
fused to converse further. 

The next morning Mrs. Temple told the 
Latin class of the proposed prize to be presented 
at the close of the term. Most of the members 
resolved to try for it. Latin was Ruth’s special 
aversion, but her father was anxious for her to 
study it, and for his sake she resolved to do her 
best. Edith determined to overcome her in- 
dolence and try. It would be good discipline 
for her. Nannie was anxious for the books: 
she was fond of reading but her limited means 
would not allow her to purchase many books. 
Sarah Carter also resolved to win the prize : 
she was eager to be first in every thing. 

For a time the lessons were easy and the 
class kept very nearly together. But as the 
weeks went by one after another dropped out 


28 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


of the ranks, until Nannie, Sarah, Edith and 
Ruth were the only contestants. 

Only four weeks more remained. The les- 
sons grew very difficult, requiring much study, 
and, Edith’s natural disposition prevailing, she 
gave up the contest. 

The platform which the pupils occupied when 
they recited was immediately back of the first 
row of desks. Sarah Carter occupied the desk 
nearest the wall. Two more lessons were to be 
recited and then came review. Nannie, Ruth 
and Sarah ranked the same. The remaining two 
lessons were the most difficult of all. The first 
morning Ruth took her place with much appre- 
hension. It so happened that her place was next 
to Sarah, who stooJ immediately back of her 
own desk, and Ruth wondered that it was in 
such confusion. Nannie stood below Sarah. The 
lines in translation which Ruth so much dreaded 
came to her. She hesitated, and looking down 
to collect her thoughts, inadvertently glanced at 
Sarah’s desk, and to her amazement saw a text- 
book open at the lesson, but so completely sur- 
rounded by other books as to be invisible to any 
one not standing immediately back of it. Sur- 
prise added to her confusion. The temptation 
to read from the text-book was great, but only 
for a moment. She resolutely looked away, and 
failed. Of course Sarah gave the correct ren- 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


29 


dering. Ruth felt angry. She had done her 
best, and now it was all lost by the unfairness of 
another. The lesson continued, and soon it was 
Ruth’s turn again. She was too confused to an- 
swer at all, and just at that moment Nannie 
dropped her handkerchief and stooping to pick 
it up closed the text-book, and to the surprise of 
every one failed twice. 

The next morning the same arrangement of 
books was upon Sarah’s desk. Nannie delibe- 
rately leaned over and closed the text-book. The 
result was the failure of Sarah, and now Ruth 
and Nannie stood the same. Again Ruth hesi- 
tated, and Nannie prompting her she unthink- 
ingly repeated the words. Before the lesson 
ended Nannie failed, which gave Ruth just one 
extra mark. 

The last day of the term came. The prize 
volumes stood on Mrs. Temple’s table. The 
class took their places in silence. Mrs. Temple 
gave them the praise they merited, spoke highly 
of Nannie’s recitations, and then presented the 
books to Ruth, commending her diligence. 

Ruth stood a moment with downcast eyes, 
striving to command her voice. The members 
of the class looked at her in wonder that she did 
not even thank Mrs. Temple for her kind words. 
The silence was becoming embarrassing, when, 
looking up with a sad determination in her clear 


30 


PATHS AND 'BY-PATHS. 


blue eyes, she said, “ Mrs. Temple, the prize 
does not belong to me.’' 

“You stand highest,’’ replied her teacher. 

“Not really. I should have failed if I had 
not been prompted once. It was very kind in 
the one who did it. I replied before I thought. 
I am truly sorry. The prize really belongs to 
Miss Bartlett.” 

Mrs. Temple looked troubled, and her voice 
trembled as she said, “Young ladies, I know 
Miss Livermore’s father will be better pleased 
to learn that his daughter, in addition to her 
perseverance, has chosen to walk in the path of 
rectitude and honor than that she should obtain 
a more tangible prize. Miss Bartlett has shown 
her usual ability and industry, and I know you 
will all join with me in congratulations for her 
success.” 

Nannie responded in a few well-chosen words, 
and the school was dismissed. The dressing- 
room was a scene of confusion as the girls donned 
hats and wraps. Above the mingling of voices 
came angry words : 

“Nancy Bartlett, I hope you will enjoy your 
ill-gotten gains.” 

Nannie turned and gave Sarah the benefit of 
a surprised and indignant face. She took a step 
forward, then stopped. All voices were hushed. 

“ I should think, when you know how hard 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


31 


Ruth tried for the prze, you might have allowed 
her to have it. It is all your fault that she did 
not.” 

A murmur of indignant surprise from a few 
voices, and still Nannie remained silent. “ I 
know you all blame me,” continued Sarah ; “ per- 
haps I was wrong ” — a great concession for her 
to make. Nannie’s lips parted to hush her ; she 
tried to motion that the girls did not know, but 
Sarah turned from her and vehemently contin- 
ued: “The morning when Nancy, Ruth and 
myself failed so, the lesson was unusually diffi- 
cult. I do not doubt but we each could repeat 
it verbatim before we came to the class. You 
all know how it is, when we are anxious to recite 
well every word seems to leave us. Knowing 
this, I placed my text-book open on the desk.” 

A groan from the girls, and exclamations of 
“How mean !” revealed to Sarah that this was 
the first intimation they had of the fact, and 
that Nannie had not, as in her angry heart she 
had accused her, divulged the plot. 

“ Stop your noise !” she continued with great 
anger. “ I placed the book so that both Ruth 
and Nannie could see it.” 

The color spread over Nannie’s face, mount- 
ing to her brow; her dark eyes grew darker 
with suppressed feeling. Ruth’s voice, a tone 
of indignation showing through its usual gen- 


32 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


tleness, exclaimed, “You could not think I would 
read the translation, Sarah 

“I do not see any harm ; but you had no 
chance, owing to Nannie’s meanness. She is 
like the dog in the manger.” 

“ I do n’t see how,” said Merry. 

“ Thank you,” replied Sarah : “ she did eat 
herself.” 

“ Did you think for a moment that I would 
avail myself of any such means?” inquired Nan- 
nie, the very calmness of her tone revealing the 
intensity of her feelings. 

“ It is a very significant fact that you failed 
both times after you closed the book. There is 
where the dog part came in : you were deter- 
mined that Ruth should not win if you could 
not.” 

“ Oh, Sarah,” said Ruth, her voice trembling 
with tenderness, “it was Nannie who prompted 
me.” 

A murmur of approbation stirred through 
the room. The color had slowly receded from 
Nannie’s face, leaving it white. A look of weari- 
ness took the place of the calm, half careless 
ease she usually wore, the weariness showing 
itself in her voice as she said, “ My character is 
dearer to me than anything else. In fact it is 
all I possess. I thought never to speak the 
words I now feel compelled to utter, but my 


NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


33 


character is impugned. I was anxious for the 
prize ; it was an opportunity to become the 
possessor of books I could hope to obtain in no 
other way. But when I saw how anxious Ruth 
was for the prize, and learned her reason and 
knew how she applied herself, I began to wish 
that she might succeed. It was not without a 
struggle that I determined that I would not 
stand in her way. My indignation knew no 
bounds when I saw the book open on Sarah’s 
desk. I see now that I judged her too harshly, 
and I beg her pardon. I closed the book both 
times with no thought of who would or who 
would not fail. I saw Sarah read from it when 
it came to her turn. I saw that the discovery 
confused Ruth — and, girls, I failed purposely'' 

A moment of silence followed this explana- 
tion, and then Ruth crossed the room to Nan- 
nie’s side, and laying her hand caressingly on 
her arm, thanked her with voice and eyes. 

“You splendid old Nan!” exclaimed Merry. 
“ If we were only boys I would move that we 
give three cheers for you; let’s play that we 
are, for the nonce— here goes.” 

Mrs. Temple, sitting weary and despondent 
at her desk, lifted her head in amazement as 
three hearty, ringing cheers greeted her aston- 
ished ears. 

“ And now three rousing ones for little 
3 


i'attiB aud By-Path6. 


34 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth,” said irrepressible Merry. She was sat- 
isfied with the result. 

“ What a grand girl Nannie is !” said Edith 
as she walked home with Ruth. I wish she 
were a Christian.” 

“ I wonder if any one has ever invited her to 
be one.” 

“ I could not, I am sure ; could you ?” 

Ruth was silent. Edith looked at her and 
felt thoroughly dissatisfied with herself. 

Oh, Sarah ! I am so sorry that you did so,” 
said Mary, as the sisters left the Academy. 

“ I told the truth,” replied Sarah, anger still 
showing in her tones. “ I placed the book so 
that Ruth and Nancy could see, and I knew my 
lesson.” 

“Yes, but you did not intend for them to 
see,” which remark closed Sarah’s lips. 

That evening Nannie sat by the window 
holding in her hand a dainty little note from 
Ruth thanking her for her kindness, and urging 
her to strive for “ the mark for the prize of the 
high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” 

“ Ruth is different from the other girls ; I 
will watch her,” commented Nannie. 


CHIT-CHAT. 


35 


CAPTER III. 

CHIT CHAT. 

Edith ran across the street and up the piazza 
steps, entering Dr. Livermore’s side door. She 
found Ruth in her own room busily engaged in 
crocheting. 

“ I am so glad you are at home,” she ex- 
claimed. “ I wish to talk with you.” 

Ruth made her welcome and resumed her 
work. She knew by Edith’s manner that the 
“ talk ” was on some special subject, and waited 
for her to commence. Edith seemed in no hurry. 
She settled herself comfortably into the depths 
of the easy-chair, and leaning her head against 
its back watched the ivory needle as it carried 
the wool in and out of the crimson meshes. 

“ If you were very anxious to do something,” 
she said after a short pause, “ something that you 
felt that you were called to do, and your parents 
were not willing that you should, what course 
should you pursue ?” 

Ruth’s reply was not ready. She thought 
of her own Christian parents, who could not ad- 
vise her to violate the dictates of her conscience, 
and then of Mr. and Mrs. Searles, who were. 


36 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


seemingly, living wholly for this world. She 
evaded a direct reply. 

“ I can tell better when I know the circum- 
stances,” she finally said. 

‘‘ Do you remember Mr. Stearns’ text the 
Sunday we were baptized ?” 

“ Yes,” replied Ruth : “ ‘ Thou wilt show me 
the path of life.’ It seems quite a propos for the 
present difficulty.” 

Edith did not seem to find it so, for she con- 
tinued, “ I had a vague idea that morning of a 
path I would like to follow, but I said nothing 
of it to any one, thinking the feeling would pro- 
bably wear away ; but it has deepened ever since. 
It seems as though it was being shown to me 
and yet I do not know how I can walk in it.” 

Her companion looked up with sympathy 
and inquiry in her blue eyes. “If it is the path 
your Heavenly Father wishes you to pursue he 
will certainly show you how to walk in it.” 

“ It seems to me he is showing me, Ruth. I 
want to be a missionary.” 

“ Have you told your father and mother?” 

“ Yes ; and they forbade my ever speaking of 
it again.” 

“You are very young yet,” said Ruth, after 
a short pause. “ You could not go for years.” 

“ I know — but I wish to be preparing for it. 
I would like to give my time to the study of 


CHIT-CHAT. 


37 


languages and the Bible, but papa would like 
to have me take a course of mathematics and 
book-keeping.” 

I still think,” said Ruth, “if you are really 
called to do this the way will be made plain to 
you. I have made up my mind to work at home, 
every day doing all the little duties I can, be- 
lieving that he who accepts even the cup of cold 
water given in his name will understand my 
motive and will bless and accept my small of- 
ferings ; and so I am trying daily to serve him, 
at home and at school.” 

At mention of school Edith changed the sub- 
ject. “ What pleasant times we have had ! Mer- 
ry, you and I live near each other, and Bessie, 
Ethel, and Nannie are not far from us on the 
cross-road. We were just a nice set, and now 
come these interlopers — for I cannot help re- 
garding the Carters as such — and I do not be- 
lieve any of the girls care for them excepting 
Bessie. She is fond of show.” 

“ Bessie is really very stylish. Of course 
their place is not as grand as the Carters’, but 
it is beautiful. How pleased she is to be neigh- 
bor to Sarah.” 

“ More pleased than Nannie, who is equally 
near. Is not Nannie Bartlett a grand girl !” 
Edith sat upright in her enthusiasm. “ I could 
almost believe in the doctrine of metempsy- 


38 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


chosis, and think she must have lived before in 
different circumstances.” 

Ruth looked up brightly. “ It does not need 
a Pythagoras to teach us that. Her whole man- 
ner shows it.” 

“ Do tell me about it,” said Edith, intuitively 
knowing that Ruth possessed facts unknown to 
her. 

'‘Mr. Bartlett formerly lived in New York 
City, and owned one of the finest residences 
there. The house was most elegantly and taste- 
fully furnished.” 

“ What was his business?” interrupted Edith. 

“ He had no special business ; his property 
was inherited. They are of English descent, of 
fine family.” 

“ That accounts for her superior manners and 
bearing. Blood will tell ; but how came they 
here ?” 

“Mr. Bartlett is not a business man in any 
sense. He is a great scholar, and very fond of 
writing. He used to write on scientific subjects, 
more because it pleased him than for remunera- 
tion. He invested his money without giving it 
sufficient thought, and after a time began to lose. 
He paid but little attention to it at first, as his 
property was so large it seemed as though he 
must always have sufficient. When he awoke 
to the fact that there might be an end to his 


CHIT-CHAT. 


39 


money his affairs were entangled beyond recov- 
ery. Of course I do not understand business 
matters, but people took advantage of him ; in 
short, he was cheated, and Nannie’s mother dy- 
ing about this time he was completely discour- 
aged.” 

“ Did he lose everything?” 

“ All but the merest pittance. The house 
and most of the furniture were sold, the credit- 
ors allowing them to keep enough to furnish a 
small house.” 

“That accounts for the nice things they 
have.” 

“ Yes ; and have you noticed the perfect taste 
of the furnishings? The parlor is in lovely 
shades of soft brown with a few dashes of yel- 
low. The pictures are the work of the best art- 
ists. Everything throughout the house shows 
the same good taste.” 

“ I wish Sarah Carter would call there,” said 
Edith a little spitefully. “ She just judges Nan- 
nie by her dress ; and, by the way, I wonder why 
she dresses so differently now from what she 
did when they first came here.” 

“You know they have been here four years'. 
Of course dresses were worn out and outgrown. 
You remember that Mr. Bartlett wrote for vari- 
ous papers until a year ago, when his eyesight 
began to fail from such close application, and 


40 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


when Mr. Carter bought the Fay place he ac- 
cepted the position of florist. He selects and 
sees to the plants.” 

“ Was it not brave in Nannie to tell Sarah the 
position her father occupied ?” said Edith, a little 
spite still lingering in her tone when she spoke 
of Sarah. 

Dear Nannie !” replied Ruth. “ Nothing can 
lower her position. I have wished for some time 
that the girls might know this.” 

“ How handsome she is, and how grand !” 
said Edith. “If Sarah Carter were used to good 
society she would know better than to treat her 
so. Ruth, did you ever hear that Mr. Carter 
made his money in the liquor business ?” 

Ruth was silent, and Edith knew it was of 
no use to pursue the question farther. If Ruth 
could not speak well of a person she would say 
nothing. Edith changed the subject by asking 
when she expected Richard home. ^ 

Ruth laughed as she replied that they ex- 
pected him at the parsonage in June. 

Edith joined the laugh. “ Well, it seems as 
though he belonged to you. I wish he thought 
enough of me to write once in a while. I have 
been acquainted with him as long as you have, 
but he never seems to give me a thought ;” then, 
changing her tone, “ Do you suppose we shall 
have to add the Carters to our coterie?” Ruth 


CHIT-CHAT. 


41 


looked up inquiringly. “ Why, you know that 
you and I, Nannie, Merry, Ethel and Bessie have 
always been intimate and associated together,” 
explained Edith. 

“ They are in the same class, and they came 
here strangers. We must be courteous to them.” 

Edith was silent, but her face expressed dis- 
approval. “ Do you realize,” she said after a 
little, “ that we are the only ones of our set who 
are Christians?” 

“Which reminds me that I have not an- 
swered your first question. Dear Edith, I think 
I find the solution just here : 

‘“If you cannot cross the ocean 
And the heathen land explore, 

You can find the heathen nearer ; 

You can find them at your door.’ ” 

Edith started. “ That I can never do,” she 
replied emphatically. “ I have felt for some 
time that I ought to speak to Nannie and Bes- 
sie, but I cannot do it.” 

“ Dear Edith, do you think it would be easier 
for you to go to the heathen ?” 

A positive affirmative was the reply. 

“ So do I,” continued Ruth gently ; “ but that 
may not be the work our Heavenly Father wishes 
us to do. I have never spoken to the girls ” — 
Ruth hesitated a little, thinking of her one effort 
in that direction, the note to Nannie. “They 


42 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


are so good it seems sometimes as though they 
must be Christians ; and yet — I know it is not a 
question of amiability.” 

“ Can you do it ?” 

Ruth was very thoughtful. “ I think if it 
should be impressed upon me, as you say it is 
upon you, I should try ; but if the message is 
given to you for Nannie and Bessie I think you 
are the one to carry it. I read to-day, 

“ ‘ The work you fain would do, the message tell, 

Do now and it is well. 

The house you think to build some future day, 

Build soon. Life drifts away. 

The moments you would fill with golden deeds. 

Fill now. Life has its needs.’ ” 

Edith rose. “ Ruth,” she repeated, “ I can- 
not C With which words she passed through the 
door and down the steps more slowly than she 
had entered. She was choosing for the time her 
own by-path. 


AUNT ELLEN. 


43 


CHAPTER IV. 

AUNT ELLEN. 

The next morning Mrs. Livermore handed 
Ruth an open letter. 

“Wont it be nice!” she exclaimed as she 
finished its perusal. “ Our family is so small I 
shall be glad to have dear Aunt Ellen added 
to it. Are n’t you pleased ?” 

“ We will try and make it pleasant for her.” 

Ruth glanced up quickly. Her mother’s 
voice lacked the hearty tone she had expected. 
Mrs. Livermore noticed her look, and said, “ We 
will give her the chamber over the dining-room. 
It is large and sunny. Suppose you go and get 
it ready. The train is due before long.” 

Ruth tripped lightly up stairs, raised the 
shades and opened the windows. The sunlight 
flooded the room. She dusted and rearranged 
the furniture, and then proceeded to fill the 
vases with fragrant flowers. The room was 
filled with brightness and sweetness when her 
loving task was completed, and she went below 
just as the carriage stopped before the door. 
She lingered on the stairs a moment while her 
mother welcomed a small, slight figure, and then 


44 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


went forward with beaming face and love-lit 
eyes to welcome the aunt whom she had not 
seen for many years. 

“ This is my elder daughter, Ruth,” said 
Mrs. Livermore, “ and, Ruth, this is your Aunt 
Ellen.” 

Aunt Ellen seemed not to notice the eager 
look of welcome on the face of her niece, but 
held her off while she coolly greeted her. 

“This is Daisy, the baby,” continued Mrs. 
Livermore, pitying the look of disappointment 
on Ruth’s face. “ Ruth, will you show your aunt 
to her room ?” 

She obeyed in silence, watching her aunt as 
she removed her bonnet and shawl, carefully 
smoothing the strings of the former and folding 
the latter, in its original creases. Her dress was 
plain even to ugliness, her hair combed straight 
back from her face— or as straight as it could be ; 
for, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, it would 
wave. The eyes matched Ruth’s father’s in 
color, but the happy, genial expression which 
shone in his face was wanting in his sister’s. 
The features were good but lacked repose, and 
Ruth intuitively felt that the best feelings of her 
aunt were repressed, either from habit or from 
some cause unknown. 

“ Can I be of any assistance to you ?” she 
timidly inquired. 


AUNT ELLEN. 


45 

“Ellen Livermore never has been waited 
upon and I do not think she will commence 
now/’ was the answer. 

Ruth felt herself dismissed, and slowly went 
down stairs. She was chilled and disappointed. 

For the next two or three weeks Ruth saw 
but little of her aunt, and yet she seemed omni- 
present. She met her in the halls, the draw- 
ing-room, sewing-room, library and kitchen — in 
the yard, the garden and even the stable. The 
result of these explorations was given from day 
to day in attempts at reformations commencing 
with Daisy, Aunt Ellen thinking, perhaps, as 
she was the youngest member of the family, 
there was some hope for her ; and all over the 
house could be heard from morning until night, 
“Daisy, don’t do this,” and “Daisy, don’t do 
that.” 

Now Daisy, being a child with a naturally 
contented, happy disposition, had been allowed 
to amuse herself in her own way, roaming over 
the house and grounds at pleasure, and she soon 
began to grow restive under the unusual re- 
straint. Mrs. Livermore, passing through the 
hall one morning, heard the unusual cry, “ Daisy, 
do not play in that dirt ; get up. See how you 
are soiling your dress. Who do you think will 
wash it for you ?” 

“ Eliza,” replied Daisy shortly. 


46 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ Do n’t you think she has anything else to 
do?” 

“Not much,” said the little one sententiously. 

Aunt Ellen looked at her curiously. “ Well, 
I believe you have told the truth. Get up this 
moment.” 

“ I s’an’t too, for all you !” 

“You are a naughty, saucy girl;” and her 
aunt left her in high dudgeon. 

Ruth, going into the yard a short time after 
this episode, found her little sister sitting on the 
door-step, her brow drawn into a frown, a pout 
on the baby lips, and tears in the blue eyes. 
She looked up disconsolately as her sister asked 
what troubled her. 

“ Naunt Nellen says I ’s a notty, sassy ’ittle 
dirl, an’ I sink she ’s jest ’orrid. So zare !” 

Ruth saw it was no time to discuss questions 
of behavior. “Wouldn’t you like to get your 
little basket and help me gather leaves for mam- 
ma’s rose- jar ?” 

The little brow cleared and the dimples be- 
came visible in the pink cheeks. The baskets 
were soon filled, and Ruth proceeded to the 
pantry. “ Eliza, where is the salt ?” she in- 
quired. “ I want some for my rose-leaves.” 

“ Dunno,” replied the sable servant with a 
toss of her turbaned head ; “ dunno where nuffin 
is now-a-days.” 


AUNT ELLEN. 


47 


Ruth looked up surprised ; never before had 
she heard the faithful girl speak in such a tone. 

“ What is the trouble ?” inquired Mrs. Liver- 
more, entering from the hall just at that mo- 
ment. 

“ Missis Libbermore, I ’s libbed wid you dese 
fifteen year; hab you ebber found me insuffi- 
cient or improvident ?” 

“No, indeed ; you have always been very 
efficient and provident.” Mrs. Livermore was 
accustomed to the transposition of words by 
Eliza. 

“ Well, Miss Libbermore comes in here and 
says I ’s shifless and stravagant. An’ she takes 
de dish-towel off from de fust peg an’ puts it on 
de third ; takes de spice-box from de norfeast 
corner of de shelf an’ puts it on de soufwest ; 
an’ dis mornin’ she jes put de sugar-bar’l under 
de shelf ; what for ’s more ’n I know, ’less ’t is to 
make me break my back totin’ it out ebbery 
time I wants a spoonful ob sugar.” 

Mrs. Livermore’s face revealed neither amuse- 
ment nor vexation, both of which feelings were 
struggling for the ascendency in her mind. Be- 
fore she could reply Eliza continued, the tears 
running down her honest black face, “ An’ she 
wants me to take de dishpan to wash de taters 
in an’ de tater-pan to wash de dishes in ; an’ 
says I put too many eggs in de custard and too 


48 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


much butter in de cake; an’ if I don’t car’ for 
myself I oughter car’ for de fam’ly ; an’ I ’s ruin- 
ing you by my stravagant recklessness, an’ I 
desarve to go to the poo’house.” 

“ Eliza,” said Mrs. Livermore when that per- 
sonage finally paused for breath, “ place your 
things where you like and I will see that you 
are undisturbed in future.” 

The honest face resumed its wonted beaming 
look. No one knew what Mrs. Livermore said 
to her sister, but from that time Eiliza reigned 
unmolested in her own domain ; Aunt Ellen 
shunning both the kitchen and its tutelary mis- 
tress, and thinking every one was very ungrate- 
ful for her kind efforts. 

The long summer vacation passed with little 
of special interest. Richard had been at home 
and Ruth had lived her childhood days over 
again. He had been her constant attendant at 
picnics and other places of amusement. They 
had read and chatted together, the hours flying 
all too quickly by, until on the last day of Sep- 
tember he had bidden her good-by the second 
time. People pronounced him unchanged, but 
there was a certain intangible something which 
Ruth could not define, but which made him not 
just the same to her. 

The last evening of September was weeping 
itself out in angry tears which beat against the 


AUNT ELLEN. 


49 


closely curtained library windows. Dr. Liver- 
more was sitting before the open grate in dress- 
ing gown and slippers reading the paper ; Mrs. 
Livermore sat near busy with the last magazine, 
and Ruth held a book listlessly, her thoughts 
evidently far away. The wind sighed through 
the trees and the rain poured against the win- 
dows in sheets. Ruth shivered. 

“ Does Richard take any new studies this 
year?” It was her father’s voice. 

“ No,” she answered absently — and then — 
“ Oh, yes ! He is going to learn to play the 
violin.” 

“ Then he will be a ‘ fiddle D. D.’ ” 

Ruth looked up quickly Was there some- 
thing prophetic in her father’s tone ? The pa- 
per seemed to claim his attention again. . The 
others laughed. 

“ He is that now,” said Aunt Ellen. “ I am 
glad the little jackanapes has gone back. Had 
he nothing to do but dance attendance on you 
all summer ?” 

“ Why, Aunt Ellen, it was his vacation, and 
he was resting.” 

Resting from what ?” • 

“ His studies.” 

“ H ’m.” 

Now there was something specially exasper- 
ating in that “ H’m ” of Aunt Ellen’s. It seemed 

Paths and By-Paths. 4 


50 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


the concentration of unlimited contempt. Ruth 
colored and bit her lip. 

“ What are you reading ?” 

Dickens’ ‘ David Copperfield,’ ” replied Ruth, 
picking up her book. 

“ I am surprised that you should waste your 
time reading such trash. / never read such 
things when I was a little girl — no, nor since.” 

“ How do you know it is trash, then?” said 
Ruth angrily. And Daisy, throwing down the 
house she was building of blocks, exclaimed 
as she climbed into her sister’s lap, “Was you 
never a ’ittle dirl. Aunt Nellen ? Tell me ’bout 
‘ Hi diddle, diddle,’ ” she continued to her sister, 
without waiting for a reply from her aunt. 
Ruth mechanically obeyed. 

“ Are n’t you ashamed of yourself, to fill your 
little sister’s head with such stuff? I should 
think you would blush to repeat it to her.” 

The color which suffused Ruth’s cheeks was 
not caused by shame but by anger. She rose, 
and holding her little sister by the hand faced 
her aunt. 

“Aunt Ellen,” she said in low, suppressed 
tones, “I do not know that it is any of your 
business what I repeat to Daisy,” and leaving 
the room she closed the door not very gently. 

“ That is what you learn in novels, I sup- 
pose,” called her aunt after her. 


AUNT ELLEN. 


51 


Mrs. Livermore looked up in surprise. Never 
but once or twice had she heard her gentle 
daughter speak like that. Now Ruth’s words 
were not simply a reply to the remark of her 
aunt ; they were the concentrated bitterness of 
months, against which poor Ruth had been 
fighting and thought she had conquered. 

She undressed Daisy, repeating “ Mother 
Goose,” to her without a thought of the words ; 
heard her say her little prayer, and left her, 
knowing she had a battle to fight. 

Dr. Livermore rose as his daughter left the 
room and leaned against the chimney-piece, 
looking down upon his sister. 

Do you know, dear sister,” he said, “ an 
evening like this makes me think of the days 
of our childhood. Do you remember how our 
mother looked ?” 

Aunt Ellen glanced at the beautiful portrait 
hanging on the wall before her. The doctor 
followed the direction of her eyes. 

‘‘Yes,” he said, “ but do you recall her looks 
as she used to talk to us and read to us ?” 

The needles moved slowly in the sock Aunt 
Ellen was knitting and the knitter’s eyes took 
on a dreamy, far-away expression as thought 
turned backwards over the intervening years 
since her parents died and she had made her 
home with a maiden cousin of her mother’s. 


52 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


She remembered that Cousin Eunice was punc- 
tilious to the highest degree. She was also a 
strict utilitarian, and had taught her to sew 
patchwork and “ over-and-over ” seams, to knit, 
and to do light house-work. 

All light reading was indiscriminately pro- 
hibited. - Not a moment must be wasted. Her 
half-holidays were rare and her intercourse with 
other children was mostly limited to school hours. 
Her education was not neglected, and being 
fond of books she made rapid progress. 

She thought she had been very happy with 
Cousin Eunice, and she deeply mourned her 
death, but now — memory went back of those 
days and she tried to recall her mother’s face 
and voice. Her smile was very sweet as she 
said, “ I do not remember much of her reading 
excepting from the Bible.” 

“ Have you forgotten the little papers and 
magazines we used to be so glad to receive, and 
the nice little stories she read from them ?” 

“ But, John, you do not approve of an indis- 
criminate reading of stories and novels !” Aunt 
Ellen’s tone was wistful. 

“ Certainly not. I think great care should be 
taken in their selection. My rule is, never to 
read a book that does not in some way make me 
better. Would you condemn all food because 
some is poor ?” 


AUNT ELLEN. 


53 


‘'And starve to death ! No,” replied his sis- 
ter ; “ but I would select that which has most 
nourishment in it.” 

“ Ice-cream and pound-cake, for instance,” 
said the doctor, knowing her weakness. 

Meanwhile, up stairs, Ruth was still strug- 
gling. She knew what her duty was but was 
not ready to perform it. Conscience said, “You 
ought to tell your aunt you are sorry that you 
spoke so to her.” 

Bitter thought replied, “ It would be a lie. 
I am not sorry.” 

Then came to her mind Scripture verses : 
“ Charity suffereth long and is kind.” 

“ Well, I have suffered long and been kind, 
and what good has it done ?” 

“ Charity never faileth.” 

“ Well, / have failed,” said poor Ruth aloud, 
and added bitterly, “ and I do not care.” 

Then she tried to pray, and immediately 
came to her the verses in Matthew, “ Therefore, 
if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there 
rememberest that thy brother hath aught 
against thee, leave there thy gift before the 
altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to 
thy brother, and then come and offer thy 
gift.” 

She could not even pray until she was recon- 
ciled to her aunt. And then that petition in the 


54 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Lord’s prayer, “ Forgive us our debts as we for- 
give our debtors.” 

“ I do not wish to be forgiven that way,” she 
thought. But there was no other way, and her 
heart sent up an earnest, importunate cry for 
help ; and quickly came the answer, “ Call upon 
me in the day of trouble ; I will deliver thee 
and thou shalt glorify me.” 

“Oh, I do wish to glorify Him,” she ex- 
claimed, and into her heart came a feeling of 
perfect peace. The conflict was ended. The 
dear, loving Father, whose ears are attentive to 
the faintest cry of his children, had given her 
the victory, and running across the hall she 
tapped at her aunt’s door. It was opened a 
little way. Ruth’s voice was very low and sweet 
as she said, “Aunt Ellen, I am sorry that I spoke 
so to you ; will you please forgive me ?” 

“ I suppose I shall have to.” 

The reply sounded ungracious. Ruth waited 
a moment, but no words being added, with a 
simple “Thank you,” she reentered her own 
room. 

“ I have failed,” was her mental comment, 
“ but my Heavenly Father knows I wished to 
please him,” and with an earnest prayer for help 
for the future she fell asleep, trusting in the 
strength which never fails to meet the trials of 
the morrow. 


AUNT ELLEN. 


55 


She did not know that her aunt’s words were 
brief from the very intensity of feeling. That 
she was saying to herself, “Poor children! I 
wonder if I have not been too hard on them. I 
do not believe John likes it. I will do better,” — 
expecting to go forth on the morrow and con- 
quer in her own strength. And yet her heart 
was very tender — her brother’s words and 
Daisy’s question had touched her deeply. 


56 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER V. 

OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 

Through the following days Aunt Ellen 
thought and watched, trying to please her bro- 
ther, and feeling doubtful and dissatisfied with 
herself, until, a little later, she received some 
more new ideas. It was one evening. Ruth 
sat under the gaslight, unconsciously making a 
very pretty picture. Her dress, of dark rose 
color, was simply but tastefully made, its only 
adornment being frills of creamy lace at throat 
and wrists. 

The light brightened her beautiful hair and 
gave her fair cheeks a tinge of color. She was 
putting crystal beads into the meshes of a fancy 
hood, her ivory n'eedle keeping time to a little 
tune she was humming. Her aunt watched her, 
evidently dissatisfied with something. At last 
her displeasure found vent in words. 

“Ruth, is there any need for you to wear 
such a nice and expensive dress every day ?” 

Ruth looked at her aunt a moment, then at * 
her dress. 

“ I really had forgotten what dress I had on. 
It is not very expensive.” 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 57 

“ Well, I should think it was good enough to 
wear to church.” 

“ I did wear it there when it was new. I 
must have something to wear every day.” 

“ Ruth Livermore ! I think you ought to set 
a better example. A girl in your circumstances 
could do it. You need not wear such bright 
colors ; you surely could select something less 
showy.” 

“ Why, auntie, this color costs no more than 
black or grey. You would not reject a rose be- 
cause it is red. 

“That is different.” Which sage remark 
Aunt Ellen, like many other people, considered 
unanswerable. 

“Think how the garden would look if the 
flowers were all dark blue, like the larkspur, 
or what would autumn be with the leaves all 
brown ?” 

Miss Livermore felt that she was getting the 
worst of it, and so replied, somewhat severely, 
“ Ruth Livermore, you ought to set a better 
example and be more independent. You need 
not have your dress made in the very latest style.” 

“ But why not ? What good example should 
I set, or independence show, by buying a new 
dress and having it cut in the fashion of three 
years ago ?” 

“You would prove to the world that you did 


58 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

not care for show and vanity, and in time your 
friends would follow your example.” 

Ruth closed her lips tightly. Her mother 
read her unspoken thought and said, “ My dear 
sister, you have had your dresses made the same 
way for the last ten years. Has any one fol- 
lowed your example? And where is the ad- 
vantage if they have ?” 

Aunt Ellen was evidently vexed. 

** I am sorry you uphold Ruth in such ideas. 
I think when people stay away from church be- 
cause they have not clothes good enough to 
wear, it is time Christian people set them a 
better example. If they do not profit by what 
I have done I am not to blame. My conscience 
is clear.” 

“ I cannot see how your example could possi- 
bly help matters in that direction. The people 
who remain from church have their dresses cut 
in the latest style, and nine-tenths of them have 
clothes good enough to wear to concerts and 
shows of various kinds. Most of them remain 
from church because they do not care to go. If 
they had clothes which suited them they would 
probably find some other excuse.” 

“ Then you think no one stays at home for 
lack of things to make herself presentable?” 

“ On the contrary, I think many do, but they 
are not usually the ones to complain. If I were 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 59 

going to give any one a dress to wear to church 
would you advise me to have it made in an old- 
fashioned way, and do you think she would wear 
it if I did?” 

Aunt Ellen knit very fast as she ignored the 
question, and said, “ But, do you not see, if Ruth 
dressed less expensively she would have more 
money to give away.” 

Mrs. Livermore hesitated and then slowly 
replied, “ Ruth tithes all her money. She gives 
away one-tenth of all she has.” 

The knitting - work fell from the nerveless 
fingers. Miss Livermore seemed stunned at the 
magnitude of the idea. As soon as she could 
find voice she exclaimed, “ Well ! I never heard 
of such a reckless piece of extravagance in all 
my life. Does her father know it?” 

“ Her father does the same,” replied Mrs. 
Livermore quietly. 

What r the word was fairly gasped ; “ give 
away one-tenth of all he receives from his vast 
practice and one-tenth of all his other income ?” 

Mrs. Livermore bowed her head in assent. 
Her sister was silent for some moments, and 
then said, in tones which trembled, “Well, I 
cannot say any more on that line then ; but I 
still think if Ruth and the girls of her set would 
dress less extravagantly it would encourage 
others to follow their example.” 


6o 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ I do not think any of them dress extrava- 
gantly, unless it is Sarah and Mary Carter ; and 
they are the latest comers, and I do not see that 
any one has tried to imitate them.” 

“ Look at Marie May. I should think it would 
cost a small fortune to keep her in ribbons.” 

“ Merry does wear ribbons,” said Ruth, smil- 
ing, “ but they are not very expensive, and they 
are nearly all the adornment she has. Dear 
Merry ! I could scarcely think of her without a 
ribbon flying in some direction. How jaunty 
she is !” 

“ I do not know what you mean by jaunty ; 
she is hoity-toity enough in looks and manners. 
Would n’t she be just as good without her rib- 
bons ?” 

“ I should not like her to leave them off. She 
must fasten her curls back, you know.” 

“ H’m ! That is why she wears a ribbon 
-round her waist, I suppose.” 

Ruth laughed. “ Her ribbons for a year do 
not cost as much as a gold pin would.” 

“Well, look at Nancy Bartlett. She must 
have spent all the money she could command 
for that showy dress she wore last summer. Poor 
as she is, I think it would speak better for her if 
she dressed more modestly.” 

“ Do you mean that challie dress, auntie ?” 

“ Yes/’ 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 6l 

Ruth laughed, a little gleeful laugh. “ That 
dress cost just three dollars.” 

“ Ruth Livermore ! What do you mean ?” 

“ Fact, Auntie. Nannie watched the market, 
and when they marked their goods down she 
bought it for half-price. She paid just seven- 
teen cents a yard, and cut and made it herself.” 

“ I suppose they threw in all that nice lace 
by way of inducing her to buy it.” 

“ No, that is some she has had for years.” 

“ The fact is,” said Mrs. Livermore, “ Nannie 
is very handsome, and looks well in anything ; 
added to that she has most excellent taste. Now, 
the great need of the class of people of whom 
you speak is to be taught economy, and to make 
the most of what they have. A lady came to me 
last summer and said, ‘ Hattie Otis cannot go to 
the Sunday-school picnic because she has no 
shoes to wear.’ The child was supplied with 
shoes and given a ticket for the picnic. That 
same day, at that same place, I saw her buy ice- 
cream, soda and confectionery, and a bag of pop- 
corn on the cars.” 

More shame on her,” said Aunt Ellen in- 
dignantly. 

“ A short time ago,” continued Mrs. Liver- 
more, Mrs. Rhodes told me of a poor woman 
whom she had assisted and wished me also to 
aid. Before doing so I thought I would call and 


62 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


see her. She was not at home. The windows 
were low, and passing through the yard I had 
the curiosity to glance through them. The room 
was untidy. The woman had been mixing bread, 
and had left enough dough on the pan to make 
several biscuits. The drafts were all open in 
the stove, and the top was red-hot. If Ruth and 
all the girls should wear dresses which cost but 
ten cents a yard, and have them cut as they 
were fifteen years ago, do you suppose it would 
make any difference with that woman ?” 

“No,” said Miss Livermore emphatically. 

“ My idea of dress,” continued her sister, “ is 
that it should be neat and becoming, so that one 
speaking of it would say, ‘ How nice that lady 
looked !’ and yet be unable to give details. Do 
you not think that some people take pride in be- 
ing odd ?” 

“ If you mean me, no, I do not take pride in 
it. I thought I was doing right. I followed 
Cousin Eunice’s example and instruction unques- 
tioningly, but I find there are two sides to it. I 
really thought I was setting a good example, and 
showing my independence; but it cost some- 
thing to reach that point. I remember, when I 
was a school-girl, if I met any of my mates on 
the street I would try and avoid them because I 
knew my dress was so different from theirs.” 

“ Would you like to have Ruth feel that way ?” 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 63 

A negative shake of the head was the only 
answer. Silence reigned for a few moments, 
and then Aunt Ellen, unwilling to think she 
was wrong in every point, said, “ Do n’t you 
think it is extravagant for Ruth to wear such 
nice laces every day? Linen collars and cuffs 
would not cost nearly as much.” 

It may seem so,” replied Mrs. Livermore, 
“but Ruth’s father thinks a modest lace more 
becoming to her than stiff collars: and about 
economy, lace costs more at first, but when you 
consider the amount of starch and labor it takes 
to polish collars, I think they cost fully as 
much.” 

“ Well,” said Aunt Ellen, rising, “ I ’m beat. 
I feel as though the foundations were giving 
way. All I have been taught is wrong or you 
are astray. I must go up stairs and think it 
out.” 

Entering her own room, she drew an easy- 
chair before the open grate, folded back the front 
of her skirt, that the fire need not injure it, and 
faced the question. 

The first subject she took up was the giving 
the tenth. It seemed incredible to her that any 
one could voluntarily make such an offering. 
“ Do all Christian people do it ?” she asked her- 
self. No ; she was sure they did not : they were 
the exceptions who gave liberally. Was it obli- 


64 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


gatory? Well, what had she to do with that 
question? She was not a Christian. Perhaps 
that was the first obligation for her. 

Did giving his money make John a Chris- 
tian? No, the cause came first: he was a Chris- 
tian, therefore he gave ; and if his gifts were 
the proportion of his income that Mrs. Liver- 
more mentioned they must amount to thousands 
of dollars every year. If the Bible was true 
where it said “It is more blessed to give than 
to receive ” John must receive a great blessing. 
Well, did he not ? and what had she to do with 
that if ! Was she doubting the truth of the 
Bible ? Certainly by her actions she had doubt- 
ed it all her life ; but she was not a Christian. 
She repeated this thought to herself as though 
there were some comfort in it, at the same time 
asking how it was with those who professed 
better things and did not follow this rule. 

The problem was too deep for her. She would 
pass it for the present and take the question 
of dress. 

Suppose she should give all her wardrobe 
away and commence anew. She recalled all the 
poor families she knew in Linden and all she 
remembered in Hancock, that little village in 
Vermont; and smiled grimly as she imagined 
any of them going to church in one of her dress- 
es. No I they would not do it. 


OLD QUESTIONS .DISCUSSED. 65 

Then what had the self-abnegation of a life- 
time amounted to ? Was any one the better for 
it? Was she any better herself ? What was she 
saving her money for ? and she had a great deal 
of it. Ruth dressed well and gave of her means 
that others might do the same. 

What was independence ? Evidently not odd- 
ity. Was the world any better because she had 
lived in it ? 

“ I thought I was quite generous,” she said to 
herself ; “ but now — well, in the light of the 
thoughts of this evening, I do not think I know 
the meaning of the word. Ruth evidently does 
a great deal of good in a quiet way. I wonder if 
I could do good in any way.” 

Thus she mused and queried until the clock 
struck eleven. 

“ Almost Sunday morning,” she said, rising 
and going to the bureau. She opened the upper 
drawer and took out a quaint box. 

“John notices — John prefers lace. It may 
be independence to buy linen collars when every 
one else wears lace and ruching; but I must 
say I fail to see where the economy comes in, 
with this box full of nice laces lying here.” 

Unconsciously she spoke aloud, and opening 
the box she touched the contents very tenderly. 

“ My mother evidently did not think it wrong 
to wear them. I wish I could remember more of 


i'atba and By-Paths. 5 


66 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


her. I know this lace is rare as it is old. What 
would Cousin Eunice say if I should wear some ! 
After all, what difference does it make what she 
would say? I am not sure that she can know 
anything about it. The question is, what would 
John say ?” 

Selecting some of the finest she basted it 
in the neck and sleeves of her Sunday dress. 

Aunt Ellen’s thoughts were troublesome 
when she awoke the next morning. She felt 
that she was not loyal to “ Cousin Eunice.” She 
wished to do just right, but the right seemed 
to be enveloped in mist. She decided that she 
would make just a little departure from the old 
ways and see what the result would be. 

“ I wonder if nature is accountable for fash- 
ion,” she thought, as she brushed her beautiful 
hair. “ The ladies try by various devices to make 
their hair crimp and wave. I would like to 
know if there is any particular virtue in my 
trying to thwart nature by trying to coax mine 
to lie straight. I have a great mind to let it do 
as it will,” and gathering it loosely in her hand 
she wound it round her head, then putting on 
her dress she fastened the collar with a quaint 
pearl brooch, and for the first time that morning 
looked in the mirror. 

The loosened hair rippled back from her 
face, some of it even lying on her forehead in 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 67 

little rings, and the abundant glossy coils cov- 
ered the back of her head. The lace was very 
becoming, and with a little flush on her cheeks 
she turned away, saying to herself, “ I should 
think you were altogether too old, Ellen Liver- 
more, to run to vanity. Are n’t you ashamed !” 

The family were seated at the breakfast- 
table when she entered the room. A prolonged 
“ O-o-o !” from Daisy caused them all to look up. 

“ I am very glad to see you wear that pin,” 
said her brother. “ I wondered what had be- 
come of it. I can remember how much our 
mother used to wear it.” 

John did notice, then ; he did care ; and try- 
ing to keep this thought constantly in mind the 
days passed pleasantly, and the last week of the 
year found her happy, while the object of all 
this devotion was earnestly praying that she 
might look higher, and seek to please the Mas- 
ter whom he served. 

. The day before Christmas came. Mrs. Liv- 
ermore sat by her desk in the library busily en- 
gaged in directing packages. Aunt Ellen was 
by the window knitting. The room had been 
very quiet for some time, when the silence was 
suddenly broken by the latter exclaiming, “ Em- 
ily, do you think it right to teach children 
deception ?” 

“ Hardly,” placidly replied the person ad- 


68 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


dressed. She was accustomed to startling ques- 
tions from her sister. 

“ Then why do you teach Da — ” began Aunt 
Ellen, but quickly changed the form of her accu- 
sation. Children are, most of them, taught to 
believe in Santa Claus. Now Daisy has talked 
of nothing else for the last week.” 

“ Are you sure that she believes in him as a 
veritable person ?” 

“ I have no reason to think otherwise. She 
certainly speaks of him as though he were as 
sentient a being as her father.” 

“ Here she comes. Suppose you ask her 
about it,” said Mrs. Livermore as the door flew 
open and Daisy ran eagerly into the room, her 
curls flying and her eyes sparkling. 

‘‘Oh, mamma,” she exclaimed, “wont you 
ask Santa Taus to bring me a gweat big dolly, 
with weal hair, ’n’ eyes ’at ’ll — ” 

“Daisy,” said her aunt, “don’t you know 
there is no such person as Santa Claus ?” 

“ Tourse I does,” replied Daisy, without look- 
ing at her aunt. “ An’ I want her to have a pint 
dwess with a twail — ” 

“ Daisy, Daisy,” interrupted Aunt Ellen the 
second time, “ why do you send word to him if 
there is no such person ?” 

“Tause it ’s fun,” said the little one. “ An’ I 
want her to have a twunt — ” 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 69 

“ Daisy, Daisy,” said her aunt impatiently, 
“ why do you send word to nobody ? for that is 
what you do if there is no Santa Claus.” 

Daisy faced her aunt. “ Does you s’pose I 
don't know ’at mamma an’ papa an’ Ruth an’ 
folkses is Santa Taus?’ ” she inquired with dig- 
nity. 

Just then the door opened and Ruth entered 
with Sam, the coachman, with their arms full of 
packages. 

Put them on the table, Sam, and go up in 
the back attic chamber and bring down all those 
empty boxes and baskets.” 

Sam bowed himself out of the room and 
Ruth laid aside her wraps, reentering the room 
just as Sam deposited the boxes and baskets be- 
side the bundles. 

“ What are you going to do with those 
things?” inquired her aunt, as Ruth removed 
the papers and disclosed oranges, nuts, confec- 
tionery, and many other things. 

“ Oh, these are for my poor and sick friends,” 
replied Ruth with a glad ring in her voice. 

I ’s sick,” said Daisy, standing on tiptoe, 
with her eyes just above the edge of the table, 
eagerly gazing at the abundance of good things. 

Daisy !” said her sister warningly. 

“No, I ’s poor, I ’s poor!” she replied, hold- 
ing out her little empty hands. 


70 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth immediately put her in affluent cir- 
cumstances by seating her in a high chair and 
placing before her a supply of fruit and con- 
fectionery. 

“ What are you going to do with those 
things ?” repeated Miss Livermore. 

“ Why, just that : give them to my friends.” 

Why do you not give them the money in- 
stead, if they are poor ? These things have cost 
ten dollars at least.” 

“ Double that,” replied Ruth, her voice indi- 
cating that she was glad the money had gone in 
that way ; and then, her tone changing to great 
tenderness, she replied to the first part of the 
question. 

“ I like at this beautiful Christmas time to 
make every one as happy as I can, and these 
people often long for things they cannot afford 
to buy — that they would not feel justified in 
spending their hard-earned money for — and I 
wish them to remember the great Giver of all 
good gifts.” 

Aunt Ellen looked as though she did not see 
the connection. 

“Don’t you see ’at Ruth is Santa Taus?” 
queried Daisy with her mouth full of chocolate. 

Her aunt knit slowly, and Ruth seeing the 
look of curiosity on her face said, “ These are 
for little Teddie Noyes. He fell about three 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 7 1 

years ago and injured his spine, and has not 
been able to walk since. He has quite a talent 
for painting, so I am going to send him these 
water-colors and cards,” placing them in a box 
as she talked ; “ and after he has painted them 
we girls are going to buy them of him.” 

She filled the remainder of the box with 
fruit, nuts and confectionery, placing a pretty 
Christmas card on top. Aunt Ellen approved 
the painting scheme but frowned at the Christ- 
mas card. 

“What is the use of spending money for 
those ?” Her tone indicated her dissatisfaction. 

“ I selected these cards for something more 
than their beauty,” replied her niece; “if you 
examine them you will find a verse of Scripture 
on each.” 

“ What are you going to do with that lovely 
crimson shawl?” 

“ Do you remember that little hut by the 
river? Well, Auntie Sanger lives there alone, 
and she is troubled with rheumatism, so I am 
going to fill this basket with tea, sugar, and so 
forth, and cover them with this shawl instead 
of wrapping-paper, to keep them from freezing, 
you know,” and Ruth laughed for very light- 
ness of heart. 

“These,” she continued, sorting crochet- 
needles and spools of linen and cotton, “are 


72 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


for Nellie Hoyt. She is an invalid: has been 
confined to her bed for two years, but has got so 
she can crochet a little ; so I am going to send 
these patterns, and then we girls, the whole eight 
of us, are going to order enough for an apron.” 

“ What lovely patterns !” replied her aimt, 
her voice not quite steady. “ Those are the ones 
you have been working on all your spare mo- 
ments for weeks, aren’t they?” and as Ruth 
nodded, she said, “Order enough for me to 
make two aprons.” 

“ Oh, thank you, auntie.” 

“ Why do you thank me ? It will not help 
you any.” 

“ I think it will. I only hope it will give 
Nettie half the happiness it does me.” 

And so Ruth went through her list until she 
came to the last name, which her aunt read in a 
doubtful tone. 

“ Miss De Foe. I did not know that she was 
poor.” 

“ No, but you know she is an invalid.” 

“Yes, but she has everything money can 
buy. Will you send her some paper-dolls, a box 
of confectionery, or a book ?” 

“ I thought it would please her to know that 
a sister in the church remembered her. I do not 
like to hear people say, ‘ Oh, never mind her, 
she has everything.’ We all like to be remem- 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 73 

bered, rich as well as poor,” and Ruth left the 
room, soon returning with the choicest flowers 
of the conservatory, which she deftly arranged, 
and wrapping them in silver paper laid them 
in a fancy box with a little booklet illustrating 
the beautiful poem, “ Rock of Ages.” 

Her mother gave her a tender appreciative 
look, as she gathered her boxes and baskets to- 
gether. 

“There is the dinner-bell,” she exclaimed, 
“ and I must start on my expedition as soon as 
possible.” 

“ Lem me go wif you,” plead Daisy, catching 
hold of her sister’s hand with sticky fingers. 

Dinner was soon dispatched and the sleigh 
waiting at the door. It took Ruth some time to 
arrange things to her satisfaction. She put 
Daisy on the back seat and tucked the fur robe 
round her and then packed her bundles as best 
she could, and Aunt Ellen, as she stood at the 
window watching, thought it needed only the 
“ eight tiny reindeer ” to make the sleigh one 
Santa Claus would be proud to own. She 
watched until they were out of sight, forgetting 
her prejudice against Santa Claus, and deciding 
that if she had been more judiciously trained 
in childish ideas when young she would have 
been more in sympathy with every one at the 
present time. 


74 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth delivered most of the gifts herself, and 
she never knew that her presence brightened the 
poor homes like sunshine and her cheery words 
brought comfort and hope to weary hearts. 

She never knew the silent blessings which 
were invoked upon her; never knew that eyes 
which her kind thoughtfulness had caused to 
sparkle watched her with loving glances until 
the sound of the sleigh-bells was lost in the dis- 
tance ; never knew that Miss De Foe, sitting in 
her beautiful room, surrounded by every luxury 
money would bring, turned wearily from the 
window with the thought that in this joyous 
time the outside world forgot her entirely, and 
that happy tears stood in her eyes as she held 
the flowers and read the few kind words which 
accompanied them ; never knew that the flowers 
were cherished until their sweetness was gone, 
and then the faded petals were carefully gath- 
ered and laid in a box — that the beautiful, “ Rock 
of Ages,” was read with a new meaning : but she 
went home in the winter twilight with a glad 
song in her heart and some idea of the Saviour’s 
meaning when he said, “ Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto one of the least of these my breth- 
ren, ye have done it unto me.” 

She went to the Christmas-tree in the chapel 
in the evening, and received many tokens of re- 
membrance from the girls and other friends. 


OLD QUESTIONS DISCUSSED. 75 

She did not hear Mrs. Rhodes say, “ What does 
make Ruth Livermore so beautiful?” and Mrs. 
Stearns’ reply, “ It is the inward joy shining in 
her face but in the silence of her room she 
felt like repeating the song of praise whose joy- 
ous notes sounded on the air more than eigh- 
teen hundred years ago, and which have vibrated 
through the air ever since : 

“ Glory to God in the highest, and on earth 
peace, good-will toward men.” 


76 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 

The old year had gone out in darkness and 
silence. All night the clouds had dropped their 
fleecy burden, and when morning dawned tree, 
shrub and earth were clothed in white : a burial 
shroud for the old year, a bridal robe for the 
new. 

Ruth sat before the fire in her own room, 
her fingers, as usual, busy with some fancy- 
work, and opposite, her hands clasped behind 
her head and resting on the back of the easy- 
chair, sat Edith. Ruth looked unusually thought- 
ful and the latter slightly unhappy. 

“ I suppose you have made a good many 
resolutions for the New Year.” It was Edith 
who broke the silence. 

Ruth slowly shook her head as she replied, 
“ Only one.” 

“ What is it ? I have hardly dared to make 
one. I have accomplished nothing this year. 
Do you remember our conversation about mis- 
sion work? Well, I literally cannot work at 
home. Excuse me for mixing my questions, and 
please answer the first.” 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 77 

“ It embraces a great deal. I feel as you do, 
that I have been an idler in the vineyard ; and 
I resolved that every morning I would ask my 
Heavenly Father what he would like me to do 
for him during the day.” 

“ Ruth, how dare you !” said Edith, startled 
to an upright position. “ I should be afraid, for 
fear he would give me something I should not 
wish to do.” 

“ Dear Edith, you know the test of disciple- 
ship is in taking up the cross daily and follow- 
ing him. I do not expect to find it easy, but 
you know who says his grace is ‘ sufficient ’ for 
us.” 

“ Ruth, do you know, I have felt for weeks 
that I ought to speak to Merry, and I cannot do 
it.” 

“Dear Merry!” said Ruth with tears in her 
eyes ; “ if she were here I feel as though I would 
put my arms round her and ask her to give her 
dear, loving heart to our Saviour. It seems as 
though it would literally be but a step for her, 
she is so good.” 

“ Well, I wish you would do it.” 

“ If the message is given to you, you are the 
one to carry it.” 

Edith shook her head as she rose. 

“ I can carry the message abroad, but I can 
never deliver it at home.” 


78 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth’s thoughts were very busy after Edith 
closed the door. She felt sorry for her friend, 
but what could she do ? Edith could not grow 
in grace while she evaded her Master’s work. 
Ruth was beginning to feel a little self-compla- 
cency. She had received no answer to the ques- 
tion in her morning petition. After all, she 
might be given something to do which would 
not be very difficult. 

Just then, from some inexplicable cause, her 
mind reverted to her aunt, and she wondered if 
anyone had asked her to become a Christian ; 
and then the quick thought came, “Why don’t 
you do it ?” 

“Oh, not I — not I !” she cried in bitterness 
of heart. Ruth had received her commission, 
and she felt that she could not comply. “ Any- 
thing but this!” she plead, and joy and peace 
faded from her heart. For days the conflict 
continued, and Saturday night found her weep- 
ing bitterly. Would she ever know what it 
meant to be happy again ? 

She took her accustomed place in church on 
Sabbath morning, knowing that she must cheer- 
fully comply, and say, “ Here am I ; send me,” 
or continue in darkness. She heard little of the 
service until the concluding words of the ser- 
mon roused her : 

“ There is nothing which stands in the way 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 79 

of a Christian’s growth like an unperformed 
duty. Our Heavenly Father has told us that he 
prefers obedience to sacrifice. It is useless to 
try to take a step forward until we have obeyed.” 

Was Mr. Stearns speaking to her? Did he 
call her name? No one seemed to be looking 
at her, and thought became busy again. 

Ruth bowed her head during the concluding 
prayer, and her cry for the grace which is “ suf- 
ficient ” was very earnest. When the services 
were concluded she had determined she would 
try. 

With Ruth to resolve was to act. She would 
not sleep until that duty was performed. So, 
early that same evening, she sought her aunt 
and in a trembling voice said, “ Oh, Aunt Ellen, 
I do want you to be a Christian !” and in answer 
to the look of utter amazement in her aunt’s 
face added, “You know papa is a Christian and 
you enjoy being here with him so much ; do 
you not wish to be with him for ever ? And oh. 
Aunt Ellen, dearly as papa loves you he cannot 
begin to love as well as the dear Saviour who 
died for you. Dear auntie, wont you come with 
us and accept eternal life?” 

For once Miss Livermore seemed to have no 
words ready, and, kissing her, Ruth turned away. 
There were tears in her eyes as she entered her 
own room, but an undertone of joy in her heart. 


8o 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ I have been a very awkward messenger," 
she thought, “but I have tried, and I do not 
know that success is promised. I must, and I 
am willing to, leave the results with God.’’ 

Aunt Ellen sat like one stunned for some 
moments after the door closed. “ Well, I never !” 
she gasped after a time. “ I am beat ! I have 
heard sermons and been to prayer-meetings, and 
John has talked with me about being a Chris- 
tian, but I never had anyone present it like that. 
She fairly frightened me. She is in earnest, 
though. I wonder why I am not a Christian. I 
will look into the matter.’’ 

Ruth continued her question daily, “ Lord, 
what wilt thou have me to do?’’ The answer 
came in various ways. Sometimes through oth- 
ers, as when Ruth one morning, several weeks 
later, heard Merry’s voice in the upper hall call- 
ing, “ Ruth — Ruth Kay — Ruth Kay, L— shall I 
have to call the rest of the alphabet before you 
hear?’’ 

Ruth opened the door. Merry made a low 
obeisance. 

I am a messenger to inform you that you 
are a committee.’’ 

“ Proceed,’’ replied Ruth. 

“ The august body known as ‘ The Ladies’ 
Foreign Missionary Society,’ in solemn conclave 
convened, appointed you to the honorable posi- 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 


8l 


tion of solicitor for money to aid them in their 
work of sending the gospel to the heathen, and 
I was to convey this intelligence to you, orally or 
otherwise, and break it gently,” she added, with 
solemn face but laughing eyes. 

“Will you clothe your recondite message in 
language suited to your listener’s capacity ?” 
laughingly inquired Ruth. 

“Certainly,” said Merry, changing her tone 
and holding out a paper. “You are to go to the 
ladies on this list and tease, coax, or cajole them 
into paying the sum of one dollar and joining 
the afore-mentioned society.” 

“ I should think that would be pleasant 
work.” 

Merry made a grotesque grimace. “ Ever 
try it?” 

“ No. Have you 

“Should rather think I had,” and Merry 
laughed. 

“ Merry, what are you laughing at ?” said 
Ruth, looking mystified. 

“ I was thinking of the various excuses they 
gave why it would not be all right and proper 
for them to give the dollar.” 

“ Why, did any one refuse ?” 

“You had better ask if any one gave. One 
lady said she was just heathen enough to want 
her dollar herself.” 

PathB «nd By-Paths. 6 


82 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


What reply did you make her?” inquired 
Ruth curiously. 

“ I simply said, ‘ Yes, ma’am,’ ” said Merry 
demurely. 

“Oh, Merry!” said Ruth in a shocked voice, 
but laughing in spite of all her efforts to the 
contrary. 

“ Would you have had me contradict her, 
and tell her she did not want her dollar?” in- 
quired Merry soberly. 

“You know that is not what you meant, 
Merry May.” 

“ Well, you may come to the conclusion that 
the heathen are not all on the other side of the 
ocean, and wish some of them were the under 
side,” replied Merry, rising. 

“ Do n’t go,” plead Ruth ; “ tell me some 
more.” 

“ Can’t possibly. We are house cleaning, and 
the dishes are in the hall and the cook-stove in 
the parlor and the dinner nowhere,” and she 
flitted down the stairs, leaving Ruth in a some- 
what doubtful frame of mind. She rang the 
bell and ordered Sam to harness Gypsy to the 
phaeton and bring her to the door directly after 
dinner. That meal ended she put on her hat 
and slowly went down the steps. 

“ Me too,” called Daisy from the garden. 

“ Run and get your things on and I will be 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 83 

back soon,” replied her sister as she ran across 
the street. She found Mrs. Searles and made 
known her errand. 

“ Ruth Livermore,” said that lady severely, 
“ do n’t you ever say Foreign Missions to me 
again. I have heard enough of it from Edith. 
She has taken the insane idea into her head that 
she would like to be one.” Mrs. Searles, in her 
excitement, did not notice that both idea and 
grammar were faulty. 

But it would not make Edith a missionary 
if you were to join the society,” said Ruth, feel- 
ing that she must plead her cause. 

“No, but it would encourage her and help 
some one else to be one.” 

“ Do you not approve of Mission work as a 
whole, Mrs. Searles?” 

“ I do not approve nor disapprove. I simply 
do not care, if I can get the notion out of Edith’s 
mind.” 

Just then, much to Ruth’s relief, a little voice 
exclaimed, “ Turn, Ruth, turn twit, or Gypsy an* 
me ’ll wun off !” 

Ruth ran down the steps, took the reins from 
Sam’s hand and drove slowly away. Mrs. Spen- 
cer was next on the list, and Ruth and Daisy 
were ushered into a large, handsome parlor. 
Mrs. Spencer was delighted to see them ; was 
glad Miss Livermore was engaged in such good 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


84 

work. Ruth’s countenance brightened and her 
hopes rose. Mrs. Spencer believed in helping 
the poor, and doing all the good she could. She 
had fed and clothed a family of four all winter, 
and believed she had done a great deal towards 
earning heaven. 

Ruth passed the last statement in silence, 
and replied : “ But this work is different. This 
is for the heathen.” 

“Oh, well ! there are probably people enough 
to care for them. At any rate, I have given all 
I can.” 

“ But,” replied Ruth, growing bewildered, 
“ you know, as some one has expressed it, it is 
not old clothes and cold victuals the heathen 
need, but the bread of life.” 

Well, Mrs. Spencer replied, if people did not 
need food and clothing, she was sure there was 
no need for her to give a dollar then. 

Ruth bade her good afternoon, with her hopes 
at zero again. As she afterwards expressed it to 
Merry, her hopes, that afternoon, were like a 
thermometer, ranging from summer heat to win- 
ter frost. 

Ruth was not much acquainted with Mrs. 
Bennett, the next lady on her list. She found 
her busily engaged in braiding a cashmere dress 
with a very elaborate pattern. She looked at 
Ruth in surprise, as she timidly invited her to 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 85 

join the missionary society. She supposed that 
every one knew that she had no time to attend 
to such things : it took every moment to do her 
sewing. Now, Nellie was very anxious to wear 
this dress to Annie Frost’s party, but she feared 
she could not finish it — and she looked at Ruth 
as though wondering if she could not make her 
call brief. 

Ruth rose. If Mrs. Bennett’s time was so 
occupied that she could not attend the meetings 
would she contribute the dollar ? 

Mrs. Bennett was surprised and grieved. She 
had but just one dollar in the world, and that 
was for Nellie’s gloves. “ Charity commences 
at home.” 

Ruth bit her lips as she bowed her adieus. 

Daisy sighed as her sister lifted her into the 
phaeton. “ Is you doin’ to more places about 
the heathens ?” she inquired. 

“A few,” replied Ruth ; “ we will call on Mrs. 
Peterson next.” 

Mrs. Peterson did not believe in Foreign 
Missions at all. There were heathen enough at 
home. 

“ They are within sound of the church -bells,” 
replied Ruth ; “ they can hear the gospel if they 
wish.” 

Well, they did not; and, besides, she pre- 
ferred to know where her dollar went. Mission- 


86 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

aries lived in nice houses and were extrav- 
agant. 

Ruth’s cheeks flushed. She paused to choke 
down the angry words that surged to her lips. 

“I do not know why ministers in a foreign 
country should not have as good houses as 
those at home. I do not see how you can possi- 
bly know that they are extravagant ; they cer- 
tainly do not show it in any way when they are 
in this country.” 

“Oh, well! folks say so.” Unanswerable 
argument. “Then, look at the people in the 
mission-rooms in the city. They all have sal- 
aries.” 

“Why should they not?” said Ruth in sur- 
prise. “ They must have officers to manage 
affairs and take care of the money.” 

“Don’t you see,” conclusively, “if they did 
not have all this money they would not have to 
pay so much for salaries ? Besides, I believe in 
keeping our money at home. I do all my work 
and have no salary.” The last was spoken tri- 
umphantly, as though the whole question was 
answered. 

“ Perhaps you would prefer to join the Home 
Mission Society,” said Ruth, a little maliciously. 

Oh, no! she could spend her own dollar 
better than any one else could. 

Ruth was discouraged. It must be she did 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 8/ 

not present the subject properly. She lifted her 
heart in silent prayer for guidance. 

Mrs. Carter’s was the next place and she 
gave Ruth a hearty welcome, taking Daisy in 
her ample lap ; she was “very glad to see them.” 
Ruth once more presented her cause. 

Certainly, Mrs. Carter would join ; she knew 
nothing about the society ; it would not hurt 
her to attend some of the meetings and learn 
something about it. She would go to-morrow, or 
do any thing to please Ruth. 

“ Only two places more, Daisy,” said her sis- 
ter, as, after thanking Mrs. Carter, she once 
more gathered up the reins. 

She found Mrs. Foy in her luxurious parlor 
amusing her year-old baby. She had no interest 
in missions of any kind. Mr. Foy contributed 
once a year : she presumed it was for that. 

Ruth longed for something more than dol- 
lars and names now, and with trembling voice 
said, “ Mrs. Foy, if the best friend you had was 
going away for an indefinite time and requested 
a favor of you, would you grant it?” 

“ If I possibly could,” replied that lady, sur- 
prise in her voice. 

“Our best Friend,” continued Ruth, “just 
before he left the earth, told us to go into all 
the world and preach the gospel to every 
creature.” 


88 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


repeated Mrs. Foy, looking bewildered. 

Go ” quoted Ruth tenderly. 

“ Do you mean that I am to leave my baby 
and go to China or some other impossible place 
and preach T Utter amazement vibrated through 
the words. » 

“ Do you remember what they did in the 
time of the civil war ? When men were drafted 
some of them could not go, but they hired sub- 
stitutes.” 

Do you think that I ought to give a thou- 
sand dollars to send a missionary ?” 

“ Hardly that ; one could be hired for much 
less. But do you not see that if you lend your 
influence, and give what you can in that direc- 
tion, you in a measure comply with the re- 
quest ?” 

Mrs. Foy did not see. 

“Oh, my dear Mrs. Foy,” plead Ruth, “do 
you realize how much we have of which women 
and children in heathen lands are deprived? 
Do you know that in China dear little girls 
like yours are so unwelcome that they are mur- 
dered to get them out of the way ? that in some 
places tall, dark towers are built with only an 
opening on one side, and that Chinese mothers 
throw their baby girls into them and leave them 
there to perish? And there comes across the 
ocean the account of one mother who threw 


home and foreign missions. 89 

there her little girl of four years, and the cries 
of the child were so pitiful that a woman finally 
procured a ladder and went into that dreadful 
place and rescued her !” 

Mrs. Foy clasped her baby tightly in her 
arms. “ No ; I never heard such a dreadful 
thing, and I do not wish to hear any more. The 
good-for-nothing creatures! They ought to be 
served in the same way.” 

Ruth felt powerless to plead farther, and with 
a sob in her voice bade her good-by. 

Mrs. Murdock’s cosey sitting-room looked 
very inviting, and its owner welcomed them 
pleasantly, heard Ruth patiently, and then with 
an incredulous smile said, Why, what do they 
do with all their money ? I read only the other 
day that we spend, all told, about five and a half 
millions a year for missions.” 

“ Did it state for how many that sum was to 
be expended ?” 

Mrs. Murdock colored ; she really had for- 
gotten. 

It is all there is to save a thousand million 
of heathen.” 

Mrs. Murdock passed the statement by. “ For 
my part,” she said, “ I prefer to spend my own 
money ; there are constant calls — church debt, 
poor children, and I do not know what.” 

Ruth did not repeat the words which came 


90 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


to her mind, “These ought ye to have done 
and not to leave the other undone instead 
she said, “ Do you know how much we spend 
a year for Christmas festivals and Christmas 
gifts ?” 

Mrs. Murdock did not — a few thousands, 
probably. 

“One hundred and twenty-five millions.” 

“ Oh, that cannot be !” 

“ One who has looked into the facts says that 
twenty-five millions are spent for watches and 
jewelry, three million five hundred thousand 
for Christmas cards and souvenirs of that class, 
four millions for confectionery, two millions for 
children’s toys ; then Christmas dinners, flowers, 
decorations, and so forth, swell the amount to 
one hundred and twenty-five millions.” 

“ Oh, well,” impatiently, evidently forced to 
believe that figures tell the truth, “ there are a 
great many to make up that sum. I did not 
spend but twenty-five dollars last year, but I 
worked night and day for two weeks.” 

The case was evidently hopeless. Twenty- . 
five dollars for Christmas gifts and nothing 
for the great Giver of all good and perfect 
gifts ! 

“ My work is ended, with almost no results,” 
she said to Daisy, turning Gypsy in the direc- 
tion of home. 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 9 1 

The afternoon was waning when Ruth with 
dejected mien entered the sewing-room where 
her mother and aunt were sitting. 

“ I should think your soliciting had ended in 
solicitude,” said the latter, looking up from her 
knitting. “ What is the trouble ?” 

Mrs. Livermore, with a tender, loving look, 
drew her daughter to her side and gently 
smoothed her brown hair, brushing the little' 
curls from her forehead. The tender touch was 
too much for Ruth, and the tears she had with 
much difficulty kept back most of the afternoon 
would be restrained no longer. Her mother 
allowed her to have her way for a few moments 
and then asked the cause of her grief. 

“Oh, mamma,” she replied, speaking with 
difficulty, “ I have spent all the afternoon, and 
done my very best, with almost no success,” and 
she gave an epitome of what she considered her 
failure. 

“ My dear child, it is a great deal to be able 
to say you have done your best, and having done 
so you must leave the results with Him who no- 
tices even the cup of cold water given in his 
name ; and,” turning her round so that she could 
look out of the western window, through which 
the sun still shone brightly, “the afternoon is 
not yet ended.” 

“ It might as well be, for all that I can do. 


92 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


My work is finished for to-day,” replied Ruth in 
a very disconsolate tone. 

Just then the door opened and Daisy entered, 
her sweet lips trembling and her deep blue eyes 
filled with tears. She walked straight to her sis- 
ter’s side and opened her little dimpled hand. 
“ Here, Ruth,” she said simply. 

“Why — what — ” returned her sister in a 
doubtful, half-startled voice. 

“ Take it for the heathens.” 

“Not your little gold dollar that Richard 
gave you, and that you value more than any- 
thing you own !” 

“Yes, take it,” she repeated. “I doesn’t 
want the little China babies frowed in the dark 
hole,” and the crystal drops rolled down her 
cheeks. 

Ruth looked at her mother, and reading in 
her face that she was to take it, gathered her 
little sister in her arms and kissed her over and 
over again. 

“ Did they give you my name ?” inquired 
Aunt Ellen in a suspiciously husky voice. Ruth 
shook her head. 

“ Perhaps they class me with the heathen, 
and think when they get money enough they 
will send a missionary to me. Well, I will join 
the volunteer corps,” and she laid a silver dollar 
beside the little gold one. 









•MMt* 


•yi^aw->*s.yy!-<y\';i?^ 






V M 

i|..v.... 


•• 3 


Paths and By-Paths. Page 92 





Z, n-t'i-' >• ' ft*- 

<, v.. ■■-' 




■u »' 



<.r 




■ '1 

* r 

- ' 

V ■■' Si* • 

\ - . I.. 0.1 

» ' 


.»« 



9 « 


I -1 




t » 


I t 


w 





,4 


jT 

•I' 


^ T 




fe’ 















m 



I-.* 


k ' « 


i* «k ^ ■ r^. * . • • 

■ ^ *4 _ • » ■^. j - * '■ 


^ w 








li 


^ • 


^-^4 >Vv r ■ ‘ 

'■ *Ljjh , X 


U ^ %!L<*y. 

■ .'sr-a-vsir' 




'^rA::A 4 

■■ - 

V ^ J*. •'. 

^ M t •, 

-* ' ■ ■ - 'L ^ i 






HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 


93 

“Oh, thank you, auntie!” exclaimed Ruth 
gratefully. 

Her mother drew .her attention once more to 
the window. The sun was just dipping behind 
the western hills. 

“It is not always length of time,” she said ; 
“ your day’s work is sealed, but the results may 
go on indefinitely.” And Ruth, watching the 
glow in the western sky, was comforted. 

An unusual number of ladies were present 
at the missionary meeting the next afternoon. 
Ruth noticed with pleasure that Mrs. Carter and 
Mrs. Foy were among the number. After the 
opening exercises she gave her report. 

“ Daisy Livermore ?” repeated Mrs. Rhodes, 
the president, inquiringly ; and before Ruth 
could reply her aunt told the story of the little 
gold dollar. 

A deep silence pervaded the room as she 
finished. Every one seemed touched. Mrs. 
Carter was the first to speak. 

“ Bless her dear baby heart !” she exclaimed, 
wiping her eyes. “ She makes me ashamed of 
myself. I move that we buy that dollar and 
give it back to her.” 

“ I second the motion,” chorussed a number 
of voices. 

“ And I will give a dollar,” she continued. 
“ And I,” said Mrs. Rhodes, “ and I,” “ and I,” 


94 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


came from different parts of the room. “ And 
I will give fifty cents,” and so they went on 
until the sum dropped to ten cents and almost 
every one in the room had contributed. 

“ And I will take the collection,” said Merry 
May, jumping up with alacrity and picking up 
the basket. “This is the kind of soliciting I 
like to do — just hold out my hand, which hap- 
pens in this instance to be a basket, and have 
it filled. It does not seem so much like pull- 
ing teeth.” 

Several of the ladies glanced up quickly and 
gave her a look that was not altogether amiable, 
but she passed serenely around and, if she saw 
and understood, gave no sign. 

“Seventeen dollars and fifty cents,” she an- 
nounced. 

“That dear little girl has done more than 
any of us,” said gentle Mrs. Stearns. “ She gave 
that which she valued most, and see how our 
heavenly Father has blessed it,” and she ten- 
derly touched the tiny coin which made a bright 
spot on the white marble table where Ruth had 
laid it. 

Just then Mrs. Foy rose. “ My dear sisters,” 
she said, “ you are probably surprised to see me 
here, and I am surprised myself. When Miss 
Livermore called on me yesterday I had not 
the slightest interest in missions, and refused to 


HOME AND FOREIGN MISSIONS. 95 

join the circle. She presented the case in a 
manner altogether different from anything I 
had heard before, giving facts which astonished 
me. I persisted in my refusal, for no other 
reason that I can think of than that I had re- 
fused and was too obstinate to own that I was 
wrong. I could not forget Miss Livermore’s 
words as she repeated the great commission, 
placing the emphasis where I had never heard 
it before and had never dreamed it could be- 
long. ‘Gojr^.’ I cannot get the words out of 
my mind. I have been a member of the church 
for ten years and I do not suppose I have given 
as many cents directly to the cause of missions. 

“ My dear sisters,” she continued, with great 
earnestness, “ I am thoroughly ashamed of my- 
self, and if you will accept such an unworthy 
member I shall only be too glad to join you,” 
and she slipped something into Mrs. Rhodes’ 
hand. That lady laid it on the table and a ten 
dollar gold piece glittered beside its tiny com- 
panion. 

“ May I give three cheers for Daisy and Mrs. 
F'oy ?” said Merry. 

“ Marie !” exclaimed her mother warningly. 

“Well, I must do something; I can’t sit 
still.” 

“ I did not know that you were so interested 
in missions,” whispered Nannie. 


96 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“It is not that,” returned Merry ; “ I am so 
glad she had to come to it. I called on her last 
year.” 

When Daisy saw her dollar again she was 
inconsolable. She “didn’t want it,’' and it was 
some time before her sister could make her un- 
derstand that the dollar had multiplied. 

“ An’ will seventeen ’n fifteen China babies 
not be fro wed in the dark hole ?” she inquired. 

“ I do believe that your dollar will be the 
means of saving more than that number,” said 
Ruth fervently. 

So Daisy was satisfied, and the little gold 
coin was carefully laid on its bed of white cotton 
in a tiny box ; but Daisy never saw it with- 
out thinking of the “ China babies,” and so it 
preached its quiet sermon to her for years. 


OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. 


97 


CHAPTER VII. 

OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. 

The apple blossoms faded and fell, and the 
sweet summer flowers fllled the air with fra- 
grance. Ruth would gladly have detained the 
days, they were so filled with pleasure. The 
girls spent much of their time together. There 
was an unusual number of picnics and excur- 
sions ; Richard was at home again, the life of 
every party, and people said he had improved 
so much, and was so merry. His company was 
constantly sought ; and he was courteous and 
kind to every one, but gave most of his time to 
Ruth. 

As the days flew by the intangible something 
which had troubled Ruth the previous year set- 
tled into certainty in her mind, but she put it 
from her. She would not be sad now; that 
could wait, but the summer did not. 

September once more filled the air with in- 
sect music and clothed the trees with brilliancy ; 
the very last day of the month came, and Ruth’s 
heart was heavy with words she felt that she 
ought to speak but really dared not, hoping 
against hope that she might be mistaken. 

Paths and By-Paths. 7 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Only a few vacation hours left, and she was 
to go with Merry and Edith for autumn leaves. 
Richard of course was to accompany them. The 
three were very merry, and Ruth did her best 
to appear so. mmm 

The afternoon sun was still high when they 
came through the little copse and, laying their 
glowing burdens carefully down, placed them- 
selves in comfortable attitudes on the rustic 
seats to rest. The air was hazy, mellowing the 
light of the western sun ; the leaves gently 
stirred in the breeze, and for a time that and 
the chirp of insects and the rustle of their wings 
were the only sounds heard. 

Merry, as usual, was the first to break the 
silence. 

“ And so,” she said, addressing Richard, “ you 
return to the halls of learning to-morrow.” 

The hazel eyes were unusually thoughtful. 
Edith thought that some of the haze which cov- 
ered the landscape had settled in them, but they 
took their usual laughing look as he turned them 
towards Merry and gave an affirmative nod. 

“ Study night and day, I suppose,” she con- 
tinued ; ‘‘ and when you return you will be so 
high on the pedestal of knowledge we shall re- 
quire a telescope to see you.” 

“ No, an opera-glass will bring me within^ 
range of your vision,” was the laughing reply. 


OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. 


99 


“ What do you know about opera-glasses ?” 

“Oh, I use them occasionally.” 

“ You do not study nights, then.” 

Richard looked at Ruth as he replied, “ Would 
you have a fellow kill himself? Study is still 
paramount ; and I find I can do better work after 
an evening at a concert, opera or theatre.” 

He was surprised and not a little chagrined 
that Ruth gave no sign that she heard, unless it 
were an added tinge to the pink in her cheeks. 
It was Edith who in a startled voice said, “You 
do not mean it.” 

“ Why?” 

“What for?’* Merry’s voice was neither 
shocked nor startled. 

Richard still looked at Ruth. She met his 
gaze frankly, a shadow indeed in the deep blue 
eyes, but her voice was very sweet as she said, 
“ Richard, a certain evangelist says ‘ Christians 
often ask. What is the harm in doing this or 
that ? When they get the right spirit they in- 
quire, What is the use ?’ ” 

Richard’s cheeks flushed, and he laughed a 
little uneasily. “ I have not asked what the 
harm is.’* 

Ruth was silent. 

“ I asked what you went for,” said Merry. 

“ Several things. Ruth, do n’t you like to see 
a minister graceful in the pulpit ?” 


100 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth bowed her acquiescence. 

“ Well, I know of no place in the world where 
one can learn gesture as well as at the theatre.” 

“ I declare ! I never thought of that,” said 
Merry, sitting upright. “Only think, girls! if 
we are ever so fortunate as to hear Richard 
preach we can try all through the sermon to 
fit the gestures to some play. When he extends 
his arms as though to take in the whole congre- 
gation we will wonder who on the stage received 
such an embrace.” 

“ Marie May,” said Richard, frowning, “ do 
talk sense.” 

“ Do n’t ask impossibilities, Richard Stearns,” 
retorted Merry. 

“ What do you think, Ruth ?” Richard waited 
her answer with some anxiety. Her tone was 
low and filled with reverence as she said, “ Do 
you not think if one were filled with the Holy 
Spirit it would make him graceful ?” 

“ No ! no more than it would make a homely 
face pretty.” 

“ It does that.” 

“ What ?” 

“ Makes a plain face beautiful. I attended a 
series of meetings held in the city last winter. 
I noticed a young man who seemed much inter- 
ested. He was very plain looking. At the 
close of the meeting the leader asked all those 


OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. 


lOI 


who had recently found the Saviour to raise 
their hands. I heard voices around me say, 
‘ See that face.’ Turning, I saw this same 
young man holding up his hand, his face fairly 
illuminated. Joy and peace had made it beau- 
tiful.” 

“You know as well as I do, Ruth, that it 
would wear its old look after a while.” 

Ruth made no reply. She knew that Rich- 
ard was very tenacious of an opinion, that he 
would often argue for the sake of arguing ; and 
he, looking at the sweet, pure face before him, 
realized that one might retain the beauty which 
a heart at peace with God can give. Nature 
had done much for Ruth, but the lovely expres- 
sion attracted fully as much as beauty of com- 
plexion and feature. 

“You said there were several things,” said 
Edith inquiringly. 

“ Yes ; I consider the theatre the best school 
in the world in which to learn elocution.” 

“At which theatre did your father learn it ?” 
inquired Merry. 

“ My father ? Oh, well, he is one of the old 
school, you know.” 

“ I thought he graduated from the same col- 
lege you expect to?” 

“ Do be still. Merry.” Richard was evidently 
vexed. 


102 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ I attended a camp - meeting several years 
ago,” said Ruth, “and at the opening service 
the leader said, ‘ Instead of reading the Scrip- 
ture in the usual manner, I will call on Brother 
Howe to repeat a chapter.’ An old man, with 
white hair and pleasant face, rose and repeated 
the fourth chapter of second Timothy in the 
most perfect manner, giving to every word its 
true meaning. At the close of the service a 
gentleman stepped up to him and said, ‘ Where 
did you learn elocution ? I have studied it for 
years and cannot repeat a chapter with half the 
feeling you gave it.’ 

“ ‘ Elocution ?’ he replied. ‘ I hardly know 
what you mean. I never studied it.’ ” 

“ He probably had a natural gift for it.” 

“ Possibly ; but the true secret lay in the fact 
that he loved the words.” Ruth, like her father, 
knew when she had said enough. 

“ Well,” replied Richard, leaving that point, 
“if more Christian people would attend the 
theatre it would uplift it.” 

“ Then it needs it !” said Merry quickly. 

“ There is much about it now that elevates 
and uplifts.” 

“ That ’s a fact,” replied Merry. “ I was ele- 
vated to the second gallery last time I went. I 
felt very much uplifted, I can tell you.” 

Richard bit his lip. 


OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. IO3 

“ Do you think the actors should be Chris- 
tians too?’’ inquired Edith in evident per- 
plexity. 

“ That is a side of the question which few 
people think of, I fear,” said Ruth. “ I heard 
an actor give his experience — not in a theatre,” 
the last in reply to Richard’s quick glance, “but 
at that same camp-meeting to which I have al- 
ready alluded. He said that his father was a 
minister, and he had often longed to become 
a Christian ; that many a time he had left the 
stage between the acts and gone to his little 
dressing-room to pray. ‘ And what kept me 
back ?’ he asked. ‘ It was seeing Christian peo- 
ple in the audience. I thought if it was right 
for them to sit before the footlights and laugh 
at me, it was right for me to be back of those 
same lights performing to make them laugh. 

“ ‘ One day,’ he continued, ‘ I was travelling 
and I met a brother actor. “ Jim,” he said, “ did 
you know Joe was converted?” “No; what 
company is he with ?” He looked at me. I did 
not need a reply but he said, “ Do n’t you know, 
Jim, that an actor cant be a Christian ? “ ’ “ 

“ What became of him ?” inquired Edith, evi- 
dently much interested. 

“ He left the stage and was converted. What 
do you think of your influence as a Christian, 
Richard ?” 


104 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


He seemed to have no reply ready, and 
Merry said, You do not use your usually good 
logic, Richard Stearns ; but I am glad to know 
that Christians can attend the theatre. Let me 
know when you have a church ; I think I ’ll join 
it. Perhaps you will let me go to the theatre 
with you occasionally. But, my! look at the 
sun ! It must be ’most supper-time, and mamma 
and Bridget are both away ; and when papa 
comes home and finds an empty table I fear his 
gestures and elocution will both be original. I 
shall not stop to fit them to any play. It will be 
sober earnest for me. Good-by, Richard ; look 
out you do not make a mistake and get on the 
stage instead of into the pulpit,” and she ran 
lightly across the field. 

“ Do you play cards too?” inquired Edith. 

“ Well, what is the harm ?” 

“You quoted correctly this time, Richard.” 
Ruth’s tone was sad, and for the first time Rich- 
ard ignored a remark from her as he continued, 
“What is the harm in a few pieces of paste- 
board? You all play backgammon.” 

“ Richard, who says that Christians must not 
attend the theatre or play cards?” 

“Cranks!” replied Richard shortly. 

Never had he spoken in that manner to Ruth 
before. She struggled bravely and kept back 
the tears, but her voice trembled as she said, “ I 


OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. 10$ 

have heard people say, ‘ I am not a Christian, 
but if ever I am I will not attend the theatre or 
play cards.’ It is not Christians who say we 
must not do these things, but the world’s peo- 
ple.” 

They were silent a few moments and then, 
as by mutual consent, rose and leisurely followed 
the path towards the doctor’s house. 

The haze had grown more dense and settled 
in the west. Ruth felt as though it had envel- 
oped her, as she quietly walked by Richard’s 
side. She had been in a measure prepared for 
this, but the certainty that Richard had changed 
troubled her deeply. 

Richard bade Edith good-by, and she crossed 
the road while he lingered at the doctor’s gate 
as he had two years ago. The memory of that 
night came to them both. They stood there 
now as then, and Richard held her hand, but 
the parting was different. Ruth felt as though 
she were bidding good-by to much of the bright- 
ness of her life. 

You will think differently about these 
things, Ruth, as you mingle more with the 
world,” he said, with his superior two years’ 
knowledge, and, bidding her good-by , he was 
gone. But the shadow lingered in her heart for 
days. Not even the gay season which followed 
could entirely dispel it, and it was unusually gay 


I 06 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

with parties, concerts, lectures, and entertain- 
ments, to all of which Ruth was invited. 

She selected carefully, rejecting all which 
seemed in the least objectionable. She was 
doubly solicitous, after her last talk with Rich- 
ard, that in no way should she bring a reproach 
upon her Christian profession. 

Twilight was deepening, one short December 
afternoon, when Nannie, who had been chatting 
with Ruth, folded her work and, leaning back 
in the easy-chair, said, “ Is it true that Richard 
Stearns plays cards and attends the theatre ?” 

The words which formed the question would 
never have been uttered if she had known how 
they hurt the listener. Ruth only trusted her- 
self to utter a simple affirmative. 

“ I am so sorry,” continued Nannie ; “ sorry 
for him, but more sorry for his influence. I fear 
it will tell on Edith’s life. She thinks a great 
deal of him.” 

Just then the door opened and Merry flitted 
in. Her motions were always airy ; she remind- 
ed one of a humming-bird. 

“ Oh, girls,” she said, “ did you know that the 
affair at the Carters’ to-morrow night is to be a 
very grand one ? Well, it is,” answering their 
looks of inquiry and changing her seat from the 
sofa to a low rocker. “ You know they give it in 
honor of and to introduce their cousin, Mr. Clar- 


OPINIONS AND CONVICTIONS. 10/ 

ence Parmenter, who is to be made a permanent 
member of the family and help his uncle take 
care of his fortune.’' 

Do n’t go,” said Ruth, as Merry rose. 

“ Do n’t you suppose I want some time to 
make my preparations ?” she replied in a grieved 
tone. “ There are to be several grandees from 
the city there and one millionaire gentleman, a 
Mr. Alleyn, and some other celebrities ; so look 
your best and the door closed. 


io8 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TRUE TO CONVICTION. 

The guests were nearly all assembled when 
Ruth entered Mrs. Carter’s spacious drawing- 
room, the next evening. Very beautiful she 
looked in her dress of pearl -grey cashmere. 
Every fold was artistically arranged ; it was 
trimmed with lace, and the only ornament she 
wore was a cluster of pale pink roses. She 
greeted her hostess cordially, unaware that she 
was the cynosure of all eyes. 

“ This is my cousin, Mr. Clarence Parmenter,” 
said Sarah, and Ruth acknowledged the greeting 
of a rather prepossessing young man : lacking 
in firmness and stability, she thought, as he 
informed her that, as his uncle’s health was 
failing, he had come to look after his affairs. 
“ My uncle thought no one could do it as well 
as I,” he added with a self-satisfied smile. 

Miss Livermore,” said Mary Carter, much 
to Ruth’s relief, “allow me to present to you 
my friend, Mr. Alleyn.” 

Ruth looked up to acknowledge the grave 
bow of a tall, handsome young man with dark 
eyes, and black, curling mustache. 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. IO9 

“ A perfect gentleman, accustomed to the 
best of cultured society,” was Ruth’s silent com- 
ment. 

Sweet and pure,” thought Mr. Alleyn, “un- 
like any one I have ever met ;” and he showed 
that he thought her superior to the young ladies 
he usually found on such occasions as the pres- 
ent, by omitting all platitudes used in fash- 
ionable society and engaging her at once in 
conversation upon books and authors. Ruth 
allowed Mr. Alleyn to do most of the talking, 
however; she was a good listener, but this 
evidently did not suit the gentleman, for after 
a few moments he said, “ Miss Livermore, 
what sentence, in all the books you have 
read, contains the most thought in the fewest 
words ?” 

“ ‘ In the beginning God created the heavens 
and the earth,” she replied, without a moment’s 
hesitation. 

Mr. Alleyn showed as much surprise as his 
high breeding ever allowed him to. He looked 
at her silently, thoughtfully, for a second, and 
then said, “ You believe in that book, then ?” 

The deferential tone in which the words 
were uttered removed all abruptness from them. 

“Certainly,” replied Ruth, giving him the 
benefit of a steady look from her blue eyes. 

“ And you think a class of people who call 


no 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


themselves Christians are better than the world’s 
people ?” 

“I think they are trying to be,” replied Ruth, 
silently noting the inadvertent distinction he 
made. 

Mr. Alleyn’s tone was still thoughtful as 
he continued, “ All whom I have ever met have 
been unsuccessful in the attempt. You find 
church - members in the ball-room, the theatre 
and at the card-table. I see you believe there 
are those who are genuine. Will you tell me 
how you recognize them?” 

Instantly there came to Ruth’s mind the 
Saviour’s words, “ By their fruits ye shall know 
them,” but she could not give them as an an- 
swer to Mr. Alleyn’s question. Instead, she 
said, “ Mr. Alleyn, what is your idea of a Chris- 
tian?” 

“ One who lives a good life — a life different 
from those who make no profession. But I see 
you differ.” 

Ruth smiled, but the smile was very grave, 
and Mr. Alleyn noticed that the sweet lips trem- 
bled. He had not thought his answer would 
trouble her so. He could not know that she was 
thinking, “ Oh, if Richard could only hear this 
young man talk!” Very quietly she answered 
the tone of inquiry in his last words : “A Chris- 
tian is a follower of Christ. One who trusts him 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. 


Ill 


for salvation and is walking in daily obedience 
to his jcommands. 

“ I have never seen one who did not fail 
when tested." Mr. Alleyn was sorry as soon as 
he had uttered the words. He did not regret 
them a little later, but he would pursue the 
subject no farther. His tone was altogether 
different as he said, “ Can you tell me who that 
tall, handsome young lady is, standing by the 
table ?" 

“ That is Miss Bartlett," replied Ruth, her 
whole countenance lighted with the pleasure she 
felt in hearing her friend praised. 

Very handsome Nannie certainly looked. 
The gas light brightened the brilliancy of her 
rich complexion and the sparkle of her large 
dark eyes. Her dress, the color of a ruby, was 
exceedingly becoming. 

“Will you introduce me to her ?" 

Ruth gladly complied. Merry and Edith 
stood near, and in a moment Mr. Parmenter 
joined them and the conversation became gene- 
ral, only Merry noticed, with a mischievous twin- 
kle in her laughing eyes, that Mr. Parmenter 
addressed Ruth exclusively. They were having 
a very merry time when suddenly Sarah’s voice 
was heard exclaiming, “ Come, Nannie ; we need 
just two more to make up our sets. You and 
Mr. Alleyn will make them complete." 


2 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth looked round and found that a number 
of small tables had been brought in and a part 
of the company were already seated around 
them. She would have been surprised had it 
been in almost any other house. She thought 
she read disapproval in Mr. Alleyn’s face, but, if 
so, it was gone instantly, as he gravely but cour- 
teously declined. 

Come on then, Nannie, and we will find 
some other gentleman.” 

“ I have not played cards for a long time,” 
said Nannie, “ you will please excuse me.” 

Sarah knew the flash of her eye too well to 
urge her. “ Come, Merry,” she said turning to 
Marie. 

^‘You have not played cards with me re- 
cently,” returned that young lady. “ If you had 
you would not ask me ; I lose the game every 
time.” 

“Will you come then?” turning to Ruth, 
greatly to her surprise. 

“ I do not know how to play,” she replied. 

“ Never mind ! do come : do not be disoblig- 
ing, we will show you how. Come,” impatiently, 
“ they are all waiting.” 

“ I am sorry to seem disobliging,” said Ruth, 
“ but you will please excuse me.” 

“ Edith, you will be more accommodating ; 
come,” and she took hold of her arm. 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. II3 

Ruth involuntarily extended her hand to de- 
tain her as she walked away with Sarah. 

The little group stood silent a moment and 
then Mr. Parmenter said, “ Shall we have some 
singing? they will never miss us,” and he led 
the way to the music room. Ruth followed, 
willingly at first, but just as they entered the 
door a thought came to her which caused the 
color to leave her cheeks. “ I cannot do it,” she 
said to herself. “ Oh, if they only will not ask 
me !” 

Just then Nannie’s rich, full voice filled the 
room. Ruth never knew what she sang, and 
was only too glad when another and another 
song were called for and Nannie obligingly 
complied. 

“ Now, Ruth,” she said, rising, and Ralph 
Alleyn and Clarence Parmenter thought her 
white cheeks due to timidity ; the former would 
have excused her, much as he would have liked 
to hear her voice, but Mr. Parmenter, with less 
delicate perceptions, insisted. 

Ruth took her place at the piano, hesitated a 
moment, and then sang Cowan’s “Anchored.” 
Afterward she wondered if she rendered it cor- 
rectly, for her thoughts were not with her sing- 
ing. The words in her heart were, “ Do it for 
Me,'' and the reply, over and over again, “ I can- 
not, oh, I cannot ! perhaps they will not ask me 
8 


Fatus and By-Paths. 


1 14 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

again.” But they did, and with trembling fin- 
gers she struck a few minor chords, and sum- 
moning all her courage, in a voice she vainly 
tried to make steady, she sang Mary D. James’ 
beautiful words, “All for Jesus.” 

Before the first verse was finished she forgot 
her audience, and those who heard her stood 
breathless, spellbound. She sang the five verses : 
a little note of restfulness in the last lines : 

“ All for Jesus ! all for Jesus ! 

Resting now beneath His wings.” 

As the last note died away the reaction came. 
She did not see the look of tender respect Mr. 
Alleyn gave her as he assisted her from the 
piano. She never knew that Mary Carter 
brushed the tears from her eyes and that Merry 
and Nannie followed her with loving looks, but 
she felt the deep silence and longed to be away 
from it. Greatly to her relief a servant an- 
nounced “ Miss Livermore’s carriage.” 

She bade Mary good evening, quietly passed 
the card -tables in the other room until she 
reached Sarah, excused herself, and then escaped 
to the dressing-room for her wraps. 

When she came down Mr. Alleyn stood in 
the hall ; he quietly opened the door, with a 
simple “ By your leave,” and escorted her down 
the steps, at the same time begging permis- 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. II5 

sion to accompany her home. But few words 
were spoken after they were seated in the car- 
riage until they had nearly reached home, when 
Mr. Alleyn said, “ Miss Livermore, you have 
made it possible for me to believe that a Chris- 
tian may be different from other people. I start 
to-morrow for Europe, but I shall never forget 
this evening. I will give the subject we have 
spoken of to-night careful attention.” 

He assisted her to the door, rang the bell, 
and extending his hand said, “ Good-by. I hope 
we may meet again ; but if not, please accept 
my thanks for the beautiful words you sang this 
evening. I have found one who has stood the 
test.” 

He lifted his hat and disappeared in the 
darkness. 

Breakfast was late at Mrs. Carter’s the next 
morning ; the breakfast - room was not in its 
usual good order, the remains of the feast of the 
previous evening not being wholly cleared away. 
Baskets partially filled with rare fruit stood on 
the sideboard beside dishes of delicious jellies, 
creams, and cakes of all descriptions. The flow- 
ers were drooping, but their fragrance filled the 
room. Sarah was the last one to make her ap- 
pearance at the table. 

Well, sis,” said her father, “ how did the 
party go off last night?” 


Il6 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

“ I wish you would not call me ‘ sis/ ” she 
replied in a discontented tone. “ Sarah is bad 
enough. You know I would like to be called 
Sadie. It is much more euphonious.” 

“ That may be,” said Mary, who had a much 
nicer idea of the fitness of things than her sister, 
“ but somehow it does not seem to fit you.” 

“You can give your opinion when it is asked 
or wanted. I think Molly would fit you.” 

“Oh, girls, do stop quarrelling,” said their 
mother, “ and tell us about last night. Did that 
fit?” 

“ I think it was very nice,” replied Sarah. 
“ The rooms looked just lovely and the supper 
was superb.” 

“Did the people seem to enjoy themselves? 
Did they act as though they were having a good 
time?” There was some anxiety in Mrs. Car- 
ter’s tone. 

“Yes!” The answer was short and not alto- 
gether satisfactory to the inquirer, for, after a 
moment, she turned to her nephew. 

“ How did it seem to you, Clarence ?” 

That young gentleman hesitated. “ At first 
I think they did,” he replied finally. 

“ What was the trouble then ?” 

“Sarah,” said Mary, before he could reply, 
“ do you think it was good taste for you to intro- 
duce cards ?” 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. 


II7 

“ Why not, I should like to know?” inquired 
Sarah with wide-open eyes. “ ’Most every one 
who was here plays.” 

“Yes, I know; but there were two or three 
who did not, and if you had invited them to a 
card-party they would not have been present.” 

Sarah ignored her sister’s remarks, and said, 
“ I think Ruth Livermore had better stay at 
home if she does not know the difference be- 
tween a party and a prayer-meeting.” 

“What did my little Ruth do?” inquired 
Mrs. Carter, with whom Ruth was a great fa- 
vorite. 

Mary related the circumstances of the previ- 
ous evening. 

“Where was the harm in her singing it?” 
asked Mrs. Carter. 

“ Setting herself up to be so much better than 
anyone else,” returned Sarah. 

“ I do not see that she was singing about her- 
self,” said Mr. Parmenter; “if it troubled the 
others it was their fault and not hers.” 

“Oh, well, you are one of the goody-good 
kind too. I knew better than to ask you; I 
should probably have received a lecture on the 
spot for playing cards at all. You and Ruth 
would suit each other nicely,” she added more 
good-naturedly than she had yet spoken. 

Her cousin colored and bit his lip. 


ii8 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ What do you suppose was the reason Mr. 
Alleyn would not play?” inquired Mary. 

“He was too much of a gentleman,” said 
Clarence, without intending to be rude. “ He 
saw that Miss Livermore felt troubled. More- 
over, he seldom plays.” 

“Why, he is not a church-member, is he?” 
inquired Mary. 

Clarence shook his head negatively. 

“ What difference would that make ?” said 
Sarah. “ Quite a number who played were mem- 
bers of some church. Edith took to it quite 
kindly.” 

“ Is Miss Searles a church member ?” in- 
quired her cousin. 

“ I do not wonder that you ask. No one 
would mistrust it.” 

“ You are not consistent, Sarah. You blame 
Miss Searles because she is not strict enough 
and does not show her colors, and Miss Liver- 
more because she is consistent.” 

“ Clarence Parmenter, do you think it is proper 
to sing psalm tunes on all occasions ?” 

Before Clarence could reply Mary said, “ I 
think Ruth had some reason unknown to most 
of the company. I heard her talking with Mr. 
Alleyn something about the Bible, as I passed 
by them. Do you know what Mr. Alleyn be- 
lieves, cousin Clarence?” 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. II9 

“ I can tell you better what he does not be- 
lieve : he does not believe that Christians are 
better than others; and I am very glad that 
Miss Livermore did as she did.” 

“ I can tell you something he believes,” said 
Sarah, “and that is, that Ruth Livermore is 
pretty nice ; and if you do not look out he will 
step in ahfead of you. Whoever does succeed 
in capturing him will secure a prize : of good 
family, handsome and rich.” 

“ Sarah Carter, I am ashamed of you !” said 
her cousin, who had been growing more in- 
dignant all the time. “ I can tell you something 
else that Mr. Alleyn is — cultured and refined.” 

“You need not take umbrage,” replied Sa- 
rah ; “ if you had been accustomed to first soci- 
ety you would know that such remarks are very 
common.” 

“ Deliver me from first society then,” said 
Mr. Parmenter rising. “ I will be content to 
take my place in second.” 

Sarah's remark that he was there already 
was lost in the closing of the door as her cousin 
made his exit. 

Later in the forenoon Merry ran across the 
snow-covered fields to Mr. Barlett’s. She found 
Nannie in the sitting-room. 

“ I want to talk with some of the girls,” was 
her greeting. 


120 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ I am sure,” replied Nannie, “ I feel quite 
flattered that you should decide to come and 
see me. Ruth and Edith are both nearer.” 

“ It is about them I wish to talk ; what do 
you think about last night, Nannie?” 

“ I think that, or something else, has had 
the unusual effect of making you sober. Where 
are all your dimples?” 

Merry drew her face into as much of a frown 
as she could. 

“ I am serious. I wish to know what you 
think of last evening.” 

“ I think it was a very pleasant affair.” 

Merry pouted and Nannie laughed. “ If you 
wish to know what I think of Ruth,” and the 
expression of the speaker’s face grew very ten- 
der, “ I think she was just grand ; and,” after a 
pause, “ I fear neither you nor I would have had 
the courage to do so.” 

“ Nobody asked me to sing,” said Merry, 
drawing down the corners of her mouth ; and 
then, her countenance changing, she threw her 
arms around her friend, and with tears filling 
her eyes said, “ Oh, I do want to be good !” 

And Nannie, clasping her closely, simply 
replied, “We will try together, dear Merry.” 

In the afternoon Ethel and Bessie were 
walking home from the posto-fhce, and their 
conversation was upon the same theme. 


true to conviction. 


I2I 


“ Did n’t Sarah look superb, last night ?” 
Bessie was fond of using strong adjectives. 

“ Y-e-s,” replied Ethel, hesitatingly. “ Her 
dress was very handsome and very showy. I 
think it would have been in better taste if she 
had worn a plainer attire. How stylish Ruth 
always looks.” 

“ I never knew her to be impolite before.” 

Ethel looked at her friend. 

Oh, I suppose you will uphold her, but I 
think she was very odd and disagreeable. Why 
could n’t she behave as Edith did 

“ I think she behaved much better,” replied 
Ethel spiritedly. 

Well, if I were religious I would not make 
myself disagreeable. Edith was obliging, and 
she is a church-member. How do you account 
for the difference ? Are there two kinds of re- 
ligion, and is Ruth’s different from Edith’s ?” 

“ Yes, I think there are two kinds, and Ruth’s 
is best.” But Bessie was not convinced. 

The light from Ruth’s room flickered through 
the blind, making a tiny thread of gold across 
the street, where it met and mingled with a 
similar ray shining from Edith’s window. 

Ruth’s face was very quiet ; she was review- 
ing the events of the previous evening and won- 
dering what the girls would think. But there 
was peace in her heart, telling of the approba- 


222 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


tion of the One she wished most to please, and 
she softly sang, 

“ All for Jesus ! all for Jesus ; 

All my being’s ransomed powers.” 

They were words of renewed consecration to 
her. 

And Edith, with sad thoughts, also wondered 
what the girls would think of her, and was con- 
scious that she had thought only of pleasing an 
earthly friend by her act of the previous even- 
ing and perhaps he would never know it, and, 
if he did, he cared but little for her. 

Miles away a noble steamer was fast leaving 
the shore and entering the open sea, and Ralph 
Alleyn stood leaning on the rail watching the 
waves and thinking of a fair young girl and of the 
beautiful words she sang. The rays of the moon 
made a path of silver across the water, and the 
waves as they broke against the steamer’s side 
seemed to say, “ All for Jesus,” and the words of 
the song repeated themselves in Ralph Alleyn’s 
mind : 

“ All my being’s ransomed powers.” 

“ My powers are not ransomed,” he thought ; 
“ but, if there is such a thing, they shall be.” 

Long he stood there, and the sailors passing 
wondered at the silent figure. The moon sank 
lower and lower in the western sky, and finally 


TRUE TO CONVICTION. , 


123 


disappeared altogether, while the deep blue vault 
of heaven was thickly studded with golden stars, 
and the dark waters still rolled monotonously. 
Ralph Alleyn yielded to the holy influence 
which stole over him, and bared his head as in 
some unseen presence ; and the waves still sang, 
and his heart repeated the refrain. 


All for Jesus ! all for Jesus !” 


124 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

CHOOSING. 

Ruth was glad for several reasons when the 
season was over. After her experience at Mrs. 
Carter’s she felt reluctant to attend gatherings 
of that kind. Then, Mr. Parmenter was often 
her escort and she was not sure that she liked 
it. She refused to accompany him when she 
could frame a plausible excuse, which was not 
often. 

She never heard from Mr. Alleyn, and as 
neither Sarah nor Mary spoke of him she con- 
cluded that they were not in correspondence 
with him. Mr. Alleyn was Clarence Parmenter’s 
friend, but Ruth could not ask him. She longed 
for, yet dreaded, Richard’s return. If his opin- 
ions, as expressed in their last conversation, were 
unchanged, she trembled for his influence. She 
could only wait patiently, and the waiting would 
not be long ; and so the winter ended, the warm 
spring days came, and Ruth rested. 

One Saturday afternoon in May Nannie took 
off her kitchen apron and looked around. The 
little house was in perfect order, the supper all 
prepared, there really was nothing more for her 


CHOOSING. 


125 


to do ; so she placed a basket of spring flowers 
on the entry table and went up stairs. Her desk 
was open and covered with manuscript, one page 
of which was partially written, lying where she 
had left it the day before. 

Nannie had become a bit of an authoress; 
several papers and magazines had accepted her 
pieces, which made the effort quite remunera- 
tive for her. Recently she had published a 
book, and was now engaged in completing an- 
other. She looked wistfully at the unfinished 
manuscript, but resolutely passed the desk and 
took her seat by the open window. 

The soft spring air gently stirred the muslin 
curtains ; the lawn on both sides of the house was 
smooth and velvety, the flower-beds were gay 
with tulips, purple and white lilacs filled the air 
with fragrance, the apple-trees presented one 
mass of blossoms, their delicate pink petals flut- 
tering down upon and contrasting with the 
grass. 

Nannie saw all this beauty without noticing 
it. She looked steadily and quietly out of the 
window, but her thoughts were busy and per- 
plexing. 

“ I must decide,” she said to herself ; “ and yet 
I have decided again and again. Ever since 
Ruth wrote me that note about the prize I have 
been trying. I have read my Bible, and it says. 


26 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


‘ Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou 
shalt be saved.’ I do believe on him, but I do 
not feel that I am saved. I have thought sev- 
eral times that I was a Christian, and then I 
would do something that would convince me 
that I was not. I do not see that I can control 
my temper any better. I know that I do not 
‘feel happy,’ as some people in the prayer-meet- 
ings express it. 

“ The test of discipleship is in taking up the 
cross daily. I do not know that I have any spe- 
cial cross to bear. I would not be ashamed for 
every one to know that I was a Christian if I 
were only assured of it myself. I do not know 
how hard Ruth has to try, but certainly she 
seems to find no difficulty in being good ; and 
yet I think it was hard for her to sing that night 
at the Carters’. I wonder what Mr. Alleyn 
^ thought, and where he is ; and, if Ruth and Edith 
are both Christians, why they are so different.” 

And this brilliant young lady, with quick, 
keen intellect and education, puzzled over this 
simple question until the shadows lengthened 
and her father’s voice called her ; she had not 
found the solution. 

She ran down stairs and placed the dainty 
evening meal on the table ; when it was ended 
she cleared the table, and taking her hat told 
her father she was going out for a short time. 


CHOOSING. 127 

“ I will go and talk with Ruth,” was the mental 
conclusion she had reached. 

She took the shortest way, across the fields 
and through Mr. Searles’ garden. It was grow- 
ing dark as she entered Dr. Livermore’s gate. 
The evening was unusually warm for the sea- 
son, and through the open window floated the 
sound of music — Ruth playing softly an accom- 
paniment for her voice. Guided by this, Nannie 
went up the piazza steps and stood a moment 
listening. The windows were long, opening to 
the floor of the piazza. There was no light in 
the room; Ruth was alone, evidently express- 
ing her thought in song, for there was a tender, 
heartfelt note in the words which came to the 
listener’s ear, “ Oh, how I love Jesus, Oh, how I 
love Jesus,” and there was a sob in Nannie’s 
heart as she thought, “ I did believe that I loved 
him, but I cannot sing like that.” 

Then the music changed. Ruth touched the 
keys very softly and Nannie stood immovable, 
unconscious of every thing but the words of the 
song ; words she had heard many times before — 
had even thoughtlessly sung then— but which 
came to her now as though entirely new : 

“Just as I am, without one plea 
But that Thy blood was shed for me, 

And that thou bidst me come to Thee, 

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.” 


128 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Just as I am.’ I cannot comprehend it. I 
thought I must be good, to be a Christian. Is it 
possible that I can do nothing — that in no way I 
can undo the past ?” The answer came in the 
second verse. 

“Just as I am, and waiting not 
To rid my soul of one dark blot, 

To Thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot, 

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.” 

Instantly there came to Nannie’s mind a day 
when she was a tiny little girl and her mother 
had dressed her in a white dress, heavy with 
French embroidery, and telling her to be care- 
ful and not soil it had allowed her to run and 
play. For a time she remembered her mother’s 
injunction, and then, in the hilarity of her sport, 
slipped and fell in the mud. The beautiful 
dress was spotted and stained, and in grief she 
ran to the garden fountain and tried to restore 
it to its pristine whiteness, but the result was 
that the whole garment became dingy. Discon- 
solate, she went to her kind mother, who never 
scolded her for accidents of that kind, and felt 
greatly relieved when told that the laundry 
would make it all right. 

Was it possible that trying to make herself 
better had proved as complete a failure as trying 
to renovate her dress ? She lost the next verse 
as she repeated to herself, “ To Thee, whose 


CHOOSING. 


129 

blood can cleanse each spot,” then brought her 
thoughts back to the singing : 

“ Yea, all I need, in Thee to find, 

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.” 

“All I need.” The light began to dawn. 
The Saviour was ready to receive her now, with 
all her sin ; yes, she must go as she was. She 
could make herself no better. 

Ruth played a few chords before singing the 
last verse and Nannie repeated over and over, 
“ I come, I come,” joy filling her heart at each 
repetition, and when Ruth commenced the last 
verse she stepped quickly through the window, 
and joined the song with gladness thrilling in 
every note. 

Ruth started and her voice faltered, but her 
fingers, true to years of training, gave the right 
notes, and Nannie’s rich voice filled the room : 

“ Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve ; 

Because Thy promise I believe, 

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.” 

“ Now sing the one you sang before this,” 
she said as the last note died away, and the two 
young voices united in perfect harmony, not 
only of tone but of feeling, and out on the even- 
ing air and through the hall rang Nannie’s song 
of triumph, 

“ O how I love Jesus, O how I love Jesus.” 

Paths and By-Paths. 9 


30 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Aunt Ellen, sitting in the library, exclaimed, 
“ I never heard that Bartlett girl sing like that 
before.” 

“She never did,” replied Mrs. Livermore, 
recognizing the new meaning Nannie put in the 
words. 

Very softly Ruth struck the last chord and, 
rising, extended her hands, which Nannie 
grasped and held. 

“ Oh, Nannie, I am so glad ! I have hoped 
and prayed for this for a long time.” 

“Dear little Ruth,” she replied, “do you 
know that but for you I should not have sung 
this glad song to-night?” And to Ruth’s sur- 
prised '' Me r added, “Do you remember the 
note you wrote me three years ago ? I have been 
trying ever since then to be a Christian; and 
when you so nobly showed, or sang, at Mrs. 
Carter’s, why you could not do as others did, I 
renewed my efforts to become like you.” 

“ I know,” she said, answering Ruth’s un- 
spoken thought. “ I ought to have looked be- 
yond you to the One you loved and were serv- 
ing, but I had not learned that ; but to-night my 
joy is full,” and, stooping, she kissed Ruth and 
quietly stepped through the open window into 
the starry stillness. 

No other evening of her life was just like 
this evening to Nannie Bartlett. The new moon 


CHOOSING. 


31 


hung low in the western sky and the stars 
looked brightly down from their azure heights. 
All was peace within and without. She felt 
that the whole purpose of her life was changed. 

Two weeks from the following Sunday she 
took the vows which hereafter were to make her 
life so different. The girls, standing near her, 
softly sang, “ Just as I am.” It was her request 
that these words should be sung, and by her 
schoolmates only. 

Ruth noticed that Merry’s lip quivered and 
her voice was silent, and sending the carriage 
home she walked by her side, telling her of the 
longing she felt that she should join the others 
in the heavenward path. “ Three of us now. 
Merry; wont you be the next?” And Merry’s 
eager voice expressed her willingness, adding 
plaintively, “ But I do not know how.” The 
wistful look on her face touched Ruth as she 
bade her good-by, sad but not discouraged : she 
hoped and prayed, and Marie could not but feel 
in her kindly drawing influence the call of the 
Saviour himself. Meanwhile the weeks flew by, 
the summer days, so longed for, came, and the 
little company of friends wished that life might 
be all summer— and just such a summer as this. 

Richard was the animating spirit of the 
party ; his gay sallies were met by sharp repar- 
tee by Merry, and only Ruth and Nannie no- 


132 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

deed the wistful look which sometimes stole into 
her blue eyes. 

Clarence Parmenter was surprised to find 
Richard taking his place as attendant upon 
Ruth. It was done so quietly and as a matter 
of course that he could not resent it, and indeed 
he felt that he had no right so to do ; and when 
Sarah told him that “ faint heart ne’er won fair 
lady,” and he replied that he did not wish to at- 
tempt to step in where he had no right, Sarah 
answered that Richard had no more right than 
any one else ; he was like a brother to Ruth. 
Richard maintained his place, right or no right, 
and never seemed to see the discomfiture of 
Mr. Parmenter. 

These long, pleasant days came to an end, 
as all pleasant days do ; the last of Septem- 
ber came and Richard still lingered. The days 
grew shorter and colder, and the young people, 
obliged to give up much of their out-of-door life, 
formed themselves into a literary club. Then 
came the Christmas festivities and the New 
Year receptions. 

After the first day of the year Ruth and 
Nannie refused all invitations and waited 
quietly for the week of prayer — quietly, 
thoughtfully and prayerfully. 

The evening of the first meeting Nannie 
hurriedly cleared away the supper dishes, and 


CHOOSING. 


133 


putting on her wraps followed the winding 
road to Mrs. Carter’s. 

The girls are up stairs,” their mother said, 
and in answer to Sarah’s “Come!” Nannie 
opened the dressing-room door. Chairs and 
sofa were covered with laces, flowers, ribbons 
and dresses. Sarah was standing before the 
mirror trying the effects of different styles of 
dressing her hair. Mary, who was sitting by 
the window, cleared a chair and handed it to 
Nannie. 

“ Would you wear your hair high, or low? ” 
inquired Sarah. “ Let me see how you have 
yours. Just the same,” she continued as Nan- 
nie removed her hat, revealing the shining 
bands of dark hair. “ Well, it is becoming to 
you. I believe you seldom make any change ; 
but what dress are you going to wear?” 

“The one I have on.” 

Sarah looked at the neat brown cashmere in 
wide-eyed surprise. “ Why, do n’t you know 
it is to be one of the grandest and most dressy 
affairs of the season ?” 

“ One of the grandest, I hope, but hardly the 
most dressy ;” and seeing that Sarah’s surprise 
was genuine, she added, “ I hardly think we are 
going to the same place. My arrangements are 
all made.” 

The full force of her reply did not strike 


134 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Nannie until the words were uttered, and a 
great feeling of pity and of longing filled her 
heart for these two friends who were walking in 
a different path from the one she had chosen. 
The paraphernalia of fashion displayed all 
around her did not make the errand upon 
which she had come any easier. 

Sarah looked at the clock. “ Mary,” she said, 
“ you will be late ; the carriage will be here in 
an hour. Nannie, just fasten that braid, will 
you ? and tell me what place you have found to 
attend which makes you willing to give up Mrs. 
Grey’s.” 

An hour ago Nannie would not have be- 
lieved it possible that she could have found it 
so difficult to answer this question. The color 
flushed her cheeks as she said, “ Girls, have you 
forgotten that it is the week of prayer?” 

Oh ! why should we remember it ? we are 
not church-members. And I am sure I do not 
wish to be if I have to give up everything 
nice.” 

Nannie felt that she was making no progress. 
Sarah’s last remark touched her heart and 
opened her lips. 

“ My dear Sarah,” she said, “ do not put it in 
that way. I am not giving up anything. Do 
you think I go to church to-night only from a 
sense of duty? No! I find more real satisfac- 


CHOOSING. 


135 


tion in a good prayer-meeting than in the most 
brilliant entertainment ; and,” she continued, 
speaking rapidly lest her courage should fail, 
“ I came to ask you and Mary to accompany 
me.” 

Mary looked up quickly, but before she could 
reply Sarah said, “ I suppose the polite way 
would be to say ‘ Thank you but I declare,” 
with a short laugh, “ it would not be true. Mary 
Carter, will you get ready ?” 

“ Sarah,” replied her sister timidly, “ if you 
do not mind, I will go with Nannie.” She could 
never tell what intangible something induced 
her to make that reply. 

Well, I do mind,” said Sarah emphatically. 
“ I bought my lovely pink crepe that it might 
show off well against your blue one. I spent 
hours selecting them, and now you would like 
to. upset it all. Nannie,” turning to her, “ aren’t 
you afraid you will be late to meeting ?” 

Nannie’s face was a study. The old flash 
was in her eyes and two red spots burned in her 
cheeks. Sarah knew the curl of the lip, but if 
she wished to provoke an outbreak she was dis- 
appointed. Nannie waited until the' flash left 
her eyes and the color her cheeks, and then 
quietly said, “I think it is almost time. I am 
sorry you do not feel like going with me.” 

She rose as she concluded and looked at 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


136 

Mary, who also rose, saying, “ Wait a moment, 
Nannie. I will go with you.” 

“ I declare ! I will tell mother,” said Sarah, 
her vexation overpowering her. 

“ Oh, let her go where she has a mind to,” 
was Mrs. Carter’s reply. “ It would n’t hurt you 
to go with her.” 

The bell was tolling when they entered the 
chapel. Ruth, Merry, Edith and Ethel were 
already there. The meeting proved to be one 
full of interest and those which followed were 
equally so, and when the week closed Ethel 
Rhodes was rejoicing in the knowledge of sins 
forgiven. 

So great was the interest that it was voted to 
continue the meetings. Richard attended most 
of them, taking part often, but Ruth missed in 
both tone and words something of the true ring 
which had made his words so acceptable three 
or four years ago. 

The second week was drawing to a close. 
Late on Thursday afternoon Ruth went to see 
Merry. Quite a number had professed their 
faith in a risen Saviour, but happy, loving Merry 
remained unconverted. She attended all the 
meetings and seemed very much interested. 
Something was keeping her back, and it was to 
ascertain the cause, if possible, that Ruth called 
to see her this snowy January afternoon. 


CHOOSING. 


137 


Merry admitted all that her friend said. She 
ought to be a Christian ; nay, more, she wished 
to be one ; “ but,” she added, after some hesita- 
tion, I can never rise, I can never so much as 
lift my hand, for prayers.” 

Here seemed to lie the whole trouble. “ Mer- 
ry,” said Ruth tenderly, “ you certainly can do 
this.” Merry shook her head. “You need to 
take a decisive step,” said Ruth. “ Why not 
stand up among your old friends and neighbors 
and confess Christ as your Saviour?” 

“ What good can it do,” said Merry tearfully, 
“ for me to stand up in meeting ?” 

“ Put your heart in it, dear Merry, and you 
may be sure Christ will confess you before the 
universe in the last day. I will rise with you if 
you would like me to ;” but Merry shook her 
head and repeated, “ I cannot.” 

Bessie White sat in her room talking with 
Mary and Sarah in the twilight of that after- 
noon. A knock at the door announced another 
caller, and Nannie entered. The girls were evi- 
dently discussing some question, and after greet- 
ings had been exchanged Sarah continued, 
“ Wear your heliotrope silk.” 

“I have already worn it twice,” replied 
Bessie. 

“ Oh, well, you can change the 'trimmings.” 

“What is there to-night?” asked Nannie 


33 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


pleasantly. “Oh, I remember, Mrs. Sumner’s 
musicaleT 

“ It is going to be splendid,’’ supplemented 
Sarah. 

“ Girls,” said Nannie quickly, “ there are only 
two more meetings ; “ wont you all go to-night?” 

“ There is only one more musicale',' replied 
Sarah. “ The city churches only held their 
meetings one week. Are the people of Linden 
so much more wicked that we have to continue 
them longer here ?” 

“ I feel that I am wicked enough to need 
them,” said Bessie. 

“You have already been several times, and 
if church-members do not attend I do not know 
why you should.” 

“ They do attend,” said Mary, detecting the 
sarcasm in her sister’s words. 

“ Precious few ! All through last week and 
so much of this, when I have not been in meet- 
ing myself, I have met church-members at these 
other gatherings.” Silence for a moment, and 
then Sarah added, “ You can wear your blue 
crepe to-night, Mary,” and was much astonished 
when her sister replied, gently but firmly, “ I am 
going to meeting this evening.” 

“ I believe I will go too,” said Bessie. 

“ Bessie White,” exclaimed Sarah, “ how fool- 
ish you are ! If you do not care to go alone I 


CHOOSING. 139 

will send our carriage for you. ‘‘ You can take 
Mary’s place, and we will call for Edith.” 

“Is Edith going?” inquired Bessie quickly, 
and changing her tone. 

“Yes. Didn’t I tell you I was going to call 
for her? She is going, and so is Richard 
Stearns.” 

“Well, then, I do not see why I cannot go. 
If a prospective minister can attend it cannot be 
wrong for me.” 

When Mr.. Stearns gave out the hymn at 
the close of the meeting, with the invitation for 
any who wished to become Christians to rise, 
Mary Carter was the first one to comply with the 
request. Merry remained sitting, nervously fold- 
ing and unfolding her scarf, until the last word 
was sung, when, convulsively grasping Ruth’s 
hand, she sprang to her feet. During the prayer 
her hold of Ruth’s hand grew lighter until the 
touch was natural, and when Mr. Stearns ended 
she turned to her with a look of astonished joy. 

While the four girls at Mrs. Sumner’s were 
listening to light and fashionable music Mary 
and Merry were singing the glad notes of the 
redeemed. They had chosen the better part, 
which should never be taken from them. 

A few weeks later, when Mary, Ethel and 
Merry publicly announced their faith in the Sa- 
viour whom they loved, and their determination 


140 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


to follow him through life, Bessie regretted the 
choice she made on that Thursday evening. 
Could the past have been recalled she would 
have decided differently. 

Sarah almost felt that she had lost her sister, 
and her heart was troubled as never before ; but 
to mingle in “ first society ” was her ambition, 
and though moved at times, when Mary chose 
to attend the regular weekly meetings of the 
church instead of some scene of festivity, she 
put all such feelings from her. She would have 
a good time. The other could wait. 


SEPARATED. 


I4I 


CHAPTER X. 

SEPARATED. 

Aunt Ellen attended the meetings regu- 
larly. She had improved much since she had 
been an inmate of her brother’s family. As 
Merry had remarked to Edith, “ The blue Liv- 
ermore blood begins to assert itself. Aunt Ellen 
has put off some of her odd ways with her out- 
landish dress, and I should think Ruth would be 
glad.” 

But although Miss Livermore had changed 
she was by no means angelic, and Richard was 
her special trouble, his presence often provoking 
her antagonism. 

“ Ruth,” she said one evening, “ when is 
Richard Stearns going to work ?” 

“ Why, auntie, he is working ; he studies 
hard every day.” 

“ H’m ! do you call that work ?” 

Ruth flushed at the contempt expressed. 
“Aunt Ellen,” she replied, “study is the most 
difficult of work. Richard does work hard. You 
know he studies much of the time when he is 
here : studies Latin with me.” 

“ H’m ! when is he going away again ?” 


142 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth was growing restive under her aunt’s 
remarks and questions, and hearing Richard’s 
voice in the hall just then, and thinking it best 
that in her aunt’s present mood they should not 
meet, she went to the door and invited him into 
the music-room. She thought he looked unu- 
sually sober, and when she rallied him on it he 
put the Latin book aside and asked her to sing 
for him. 

She obligingly complied, but after two or 
three songs, finding the same expression on his 
face, she took up a little book and opening it 
at random began playing from it. The book 
showed signs of use. The cover was defaced, 
leaves were turned down at various places, and 
pencil-marks disfigured almost every page. Be- 
fore she had played one measure Richard was 
by her side. 

'‘You will make me homesick,” he said, 
“ homesick for school days and boyhood. Dear 
little book ! it says a great deal more to me than 
the words it contains.” 

Ruth put it away after that evening, and did 
not open it for years. 

“ I wondered if you had forgotten it,” she 
said. “ Oh, how many times we have stood be- 
fore our desks in the old schoolhouse, in the 
twilight of short winter days, and sung these 
songs! It seems as though I could hear the 


SEPARATED. 1 43 

singers now : Ethel’s clear soprano, and Merry’s 
sweet alto ” — 

“ And my squeaky tenor,” interrupted Rich- 
ard, laughing. 

“ Do n’t you wish we could always have re- 
mained children and sung songs in the gram- 
mar-school ?” 

“ That depends,” and his face sobered again. 
They sang several of the pieces, and Ruth won- 
dered that her companion was so moved. The 
words and the music awakened many pleasant 
memories in her heart, and touched her, but not 
with a sadness like that which seemed to cloud 
Richard’s face. He would have her sing no 
more, but taking her hand led her to the sofa. 

Ruth,” he said, slowly, “ I have one or two 
things to tell you to-night.” 

Ruth’s heart beat fast with apprehension ; 
she was sure she did not wish to hear them. 

“ Ruth, I have changed my plans somewhat ; 
I have given up the thought of being a min- 
ister, and am going to continue my studies with 
the idea of securing a professorship in some col- 
lege or seminary. Do n’t you think I could do 
just as much good in such a place ?” 

Ruth was silent for several moments. Rich- 
ard would never know how disappointed she was. 
This friend of her childhood was dear to her, 
and her hopes and ambitions for him had been 


144 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


very high. But he was not just the same that 
he had been four years ago, or even longer in 
the past — when they sang those songs together. 
Perhaps with his changed ideas he could do 
more good in this way. The grief was that he 
had changed, and from these thoughts came her 
answer, waited for with an eagerness of which 
she had no idea. 

I think a position of that kind a very re- 
sponsible one, and a person filling it has an op- 
portunity for effecting great good.” 

“ I am glad you think so,” said Richard, a 
tone of relief breathing through his words. “ I 
have not arrived at this conclusion hastily. I 
need preparation for it, and I have thought I 
could do better work abroad than at home, and 
so intend to start for Europe soon, travel a few 
months, and then settle down to hard work.” 

He was disappointed that Ruth took it all so 
quietly ; it did not make his other thoughts any 
easier to utter. He did not know that it was the 
very intensity of disappointment which kept her 
so quiet, and that it was the effort she made to 
prevent her voice from trembling which im- 
parted to her tone a coldness she did not feel as 
she replied, “ It will be very pleasant for you to 
travel. You will see so many of the places 
about which we have studied.” 

“ Ruth,” he said, and his voice was full of 


SEPARATED. 


145 


eagerness, “ Ruth, most of our lives we have 
spent together, and the thought of leaving you 
for so long a time and being so far from you is 
a sad one to me.” 

There came to them both the memory of 
that first parting, more than three years before ; 
the cry in Ruth’s heart for the old time and 
the old friend almost overcame her composure, 
and the longing in Richard’s heart for this fair 
young girl to be what he had told her then she 
was found utterance in tender words. 

“ Do you remember, Ruth, when I told you 
that you must be my faithful mentor ?” 

She bowed her head ; she could not quite 
trust herself to speak. 

“ You have been my guiding star contin- 
ually.” 

Had she? Ruth could never tell just why 
she spoke the next words. They seemed to 
come naturally out of her convictions. 

“ The star must have been strangely out of 
its orbit when it led you to the theatre and the 
card-table.” 

Richard’s tone was very pleading as he said, 
“ Ruth, I will promise you never to go to either 
again, if you wish me to. I will do anything to 
please you.” 

A long silence fell between them. Each 
knew the depths of the other’s nature. Richard 

Paths and By-Paths. I O 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


146 

realized that her answer would be the result of 
careful thought; and Ruth— did she wish him 
to make such a promise? His example would 
be on the right side, but his views would not be 
changed in the least, and Richard Stearns would 
not heartily advocate what he did not fully be- 
lieve. Then she was not pleased with the last 
clause. Her reply was slowly and carefully 
worded. 

“ Richard, I would rather your motive should 
be to please the Master we have both promised 
to love and serve. Were I to accept your prom- 
ise you would not be convinced.” 

“You shall convince me,” he replied. 

She shook her head. “You know you are 
very tenacious of an opinion.” 

“Ruth, Ruth!” he cried, “don’t you see I 
would rather please you than any one else in 
the world ? for I love you more than any one, 
aye, more than all others. I was honest in this, 
and I truly thought you would change your 
opinion by this time. There are few as strict 
as you ” — and yet he would not have her differ- 
ent. “ Ruth, my pathway will be a dreary waste 
unless you tread it with me. I cannot remem- 
ber the time when I did not love you, and that 
love has grown with my growth and strength- 
ened with my strength, and unless you return 
it I care not what becomes of me.” 


SEPARATED. 


147 


The color forsook her cheeks, and she strove 
in vain to steady her voice as she said, “ Rich- 
ard, I have always loved you, but not like this. 
You have been a brother to me.” 

Well, I am so no longer ; that will not satis- 
fy me. Tell me that when I return you will be 
mine, and mine* only.” 

“ That can never be.” Low as was her tone 
it carried conviction to the listener, but he would 
not have it so. 

“Stop,” he said ; “do not be so positive. We 
are both very young, Ruth ; if I had carried out 
my plans of three years ago would your answer 
have been different ?” 

Would it? Ruth recalled the days of their 
childhood and the years since then. • She was 
sure she never had thought of Richard except- 
ing as a brother — a very dear friend. If he had 
grown spiritually as he had developed mentally 
would it have been different ? She slowly shook 
her head. 

“ Richard, I cannot tell you how much the 
thought that I am grieving you gives me pain. 
That I am your friend you cannot doubt, but it 
must continue as it commenced, the regard of a 
life-long friend.” 

“ Well, I will never give you up, though I 
knyw you too well to urge you more now. I 
intended to leave Linden next week, but there 


48 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


is a steamer to sail the day after to-morrow. I 
shall take that.’' 

He bade her a kind good-by and went out 
into the darkness and cold, and Ruth stood many 
minutes just where he left her. She felt that 
her childhood had ended ; that something more 
vast than the ocean which would soon roll be- 
tween them would hereafter separate them. 

Oh, if only the spell need not have been 
broken ! She had been very happy ; she could 
never be so again in just the same way. She 
had not realized that she was old enough to have 
such words spoken to her ; but she must be true 
to herself. 

Ruth was glad that it stormed the next day ; 
and that no one called. But the days went by 
and Sunday came, and she must go to church, 
and, just as she expected, Richard’s sudden 
going was the theme of conversation. However, 
she managed to evade all questions until she 
met Sarah on the sidewalk at the close of the 
service. 

“ Ruth,” she commenced, “ did you know 
that Richard Stearns had gone abroad ? Of 
course you do,” changing both tone and tense ; 
“but did you know that he intended to go?” 

Ruth assured her that she did, but had not 
known it long. 

“ What has he gone for ?” 


SEPARATED. 1 49 

“To study.” Ruth could force herself to 
give but the briefest replies. 

“ How long is he to be gone ?” 

“ Sarah Carter ! Did you not know that Ruth 
had graduated from the class in catechism ?” 

“ What r' ejaculated Sarah, turning to look 
at her interlocutor, who proved to be Merry. 
“ Oh,” in a tone of relief, “ is it you ?” 

Merry had produced the desired effect of 
diverting attention from Ruth, who felt very 
grateful to her for relieving her from further 
questioning, and no one else seemed disposed to 
resume it. 

Her father startled her from reverie at the 
dinner table one day by asking her when the 
Carters were going South. 

Ruth did not know. “Before long, I be- 
lieve.” 

“ How would you like to go with them ?” 

Ruth looked up quickly. Did her father 
imagine how she longed to be away for a while ? 
If he did he gave no sign, but the quick light 
which came into his daughter’s eyes and the 
color which flushed her cheeks decided the 
question in his mind. 

“ How could I, papa ?” she replied, “They 
are going to visit friends.” 

“ Yes, I know ; and their friends are also my 
friends.” o 


150 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ How is that possible ?” Aunt Ellen looked 
her surprise. “ I did not suppose the people 
the Carters associated with before they came 
here could be friends of yours.'’ 

They all laughed at her. 

“ Mrs. Neville is an old school-mate of Mrs. 
Carter’s, and Dr. Neville was my room-mate for 
a year or two when I was in college.” 

But, papa, they are strangers to me.” 

They evidently do not wish to continue so, 
for I received a letter from them this morning 
containing a very urgent invitation for you to 
accompany the Carters, assuring me they would 
consider it a great favor to them.” 

“They must be queer folks, to invite five 
people to visit them for an indefinite time,” said 
Aunt Ellen. 

“ True Southern hospitality,” replied her bro- 
ther. 

“H’m! I don’t suppose they ever think of 
coming North.” 

The doctor laughed. “ I have other friends 
in Brownell — Mrs. Hunnewell and her daughter, 
and a nephew of the former. What do you say, 
daughter?” 

Ruth looked at her mother, and seeing no 
objection in her face replied that she should 
like very much to go ; but when ?” 

“ Next Tuesday morning.” 


SEPARATED. 


151 

“ And to-day is Friday.’* 

“ I know it is short notice, but I think with 
the help of your mother and aunt you can be 
ready.” 

Ruth took her place at the breakfast-table 
the following Tuesday morning looking quite 
sober. After all, it was a little hard to say 
“ good-by ” even for a short time, and with the 
prospect of a pleasant journey where every 
thing would be new. 

“ James’s got your twunk down and carried 
it to the station, and Sam ’s put the horses in, 
’n I want to go too,” and having delivered this 
somewhat ambiguous speech Daisy divided her 
attention between her breakfast and crying, until 
she suddenly dismounted from her high chair 
with a muffin in one hand, and exclaiming, 
“ There they come !” started for the door. 

“ Daisy,” called her mother, “ put your food 
down.” 

She obeyed by laying it in a chair and dis- 
appeared into the hall. 

“ Mamma,” said Ruth, “ I think it is time 
Daisy was taught to behave.” 

Her father laughed. “She will come all 
right in time.” 

Just then the door opened a crack, revealing 
a white brow covered with brown curls, two blue 
eyes and a rosebud mouth. 


152 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ Nannie ’n Edith ’n Merry is in the parlor, 
’n Bessie ’n Ethel is going to the station, ’n Mr. 
Parmenter: an’ Merry says he feels awfully 
cause his cousin or some one is going away.” 

Ruth was vexed to feel the color tinge her 
cheeks. She saw Aunt Ellen’s look, and was 
relieved to hear the little voice again, “ Turn, 
hurry ! they are waiting.” 

After all, they were a merry sleigh-full. It 
was impossible to be very sober where Merry 
and Daisy were. They found the others at the 
station, and the few intervening moments before 
the train was due passed as only such moments 
can with so many young girls together. 

Mary Carter stood a little one side, discon- 
solately comparing her own and Sarah’s dress 
with Ruth’s. The latter’s was a medium shade 
of grey, of nice material but plainly made. The 
wrap matched perfectly, and was lined with a 
darker shade of satin. The only bright color 
she wore was a scarlet flower in her hat. 

“ How ladylike she looks,” thought Mary. 
“ I will try and learn something of her while 
we are away — of dress, and other things.” 

“ The engine ’s tummin, the engine ’s tum- 
min !” cried Daisy, excitedly jumping up and 
down, and trying to obey Merry’s injunction 
and not cry and so trouble her sister. 

Ruth bade the girls good-by, but she clung 


SEPARATED. 


153 


longest to this dear little sister, who bravely 
held the tears back. She kissed the little trem- 
bling lips again and again, until Clarence Par- 
menter said, “You really must go. Miss Liver- 
more,’' and assisted her into the car, depriving 
her of the last “good-by” from the girls by 
placing her satchel first on one end of the seat 
and then on the other, asking her where she pre- 
ferred to sit, and if she were comfortable. Ruth 
was glad when the train started and he was 
forced to make his exit. She caught a glimpse 
of Daisy running along on the platform Waving 
her little white muff, while Merry held her 
tightly by the other hand. 

Ruth had a section by herself. She settled 
herself comfortably and looked out of the win- 
dow, promising herself a long quiet day when 
she could think. Trees and fences were white 
with snow. She could hardly realize that they 
were going South. She was not allowed to give 
her attention to the scenery long, however. The 
Carter girls were inclined to be social, and so 
Ruth put aside her own inclinations and en- 
tered into the conversation with her usual grace 
and ease, and it was not until the heavy curtains 
were drawn before her berth at night that she 
found the quiet she had been seeking. 


154 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 

When Ruth awoke the next morning she 
found that the whole aspect of the country had 
changed. All trace of winter had disappeared ; 
instead of a glare of white, beautiful shades of 
green rested the eye. The cars were rapidly 
whirling them through heavily timbered land, 
and Ruth raised her window that she might in- 
hale the fragrance of the pines. 

The day passed pleasantly, scenes of south- 
ern life interesting and amusing her. Towards 
evening they entered the cypress swamp. The 
water on each side of the track looked like a 
small muddy river. The trees were, many of 
them, covered with vines, and the whole appear- 
ance of the woods was dank and dismal. 

Ruth was not sorry the next morning, about 
eight o’clock, to hear the conductor call “ Brow- 
nell !” and to know that they had reached their 
destination. 

After a short drive they stopped before the 
door of a large white house. Ruth had only 
time to notice that there were flowers in the 
yard, and on each side of the gate an orange- 


NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 1 5$ 

tree laden with ripe golden fruit, before she 
received a most hearty welcome from the host- 
ess, who was standing in the open door waiting 
to receive them. 

After greetings had been exchanged, and a 
few questions asked and answered, Mrs. Neville 
rang for a servant to show them to their rooms, 
remarking that they must be tired after their 
long journey, and urging them to rest as long as 
they wished. 

Ruth was very grateful for the suggestion, 
for she was weary, and was surprised when, 
rousing from a long nap, she found it nearly 
noon. She quickly made her toilette for dinner 
and sat down by the open window, feeling great- 
ly refreshed. A knock at her door announced 
Sarah and Mary. 

“ All ready for dinner,” said the former, and 
Ruth felt that her dress was being very closely 
scanned ; but no fault could be found with the 
brown surah and its trimming of brocade. 

“Why do you not wear your diamonds?” 
continued her interlocutor. “ That amber pin is 
quite pretty, but not very showy.” 

“ Is there to be a dinner party ?” inquired 
Ruth. 

“ No, but you know there is a great deal in 
first impressions.” 

Ruth thought there was, and that Sarah’s 


156 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


brilliant pin, ear-rings and bracelets would pro- 
duce a very striking one. 

“ I do not see wbat all your elegant jewelry 
is for,” continued Sarah. “You seldom wear it ; 
and all my efforts were vain to induce Mary to 
wear a single diamond — excepting, of course, 
her ring. I am glad neither of you refuses to do 
that. I do not know what has come over Mary ; 
she has spent an hour ripping trimming off her 
dress.” 

“ I am sure there is enough left,” replied 
Mary, looking at Ruth. 

The latter smiled, and Mary was satisfied. 
And very pretty she looked, in her dress of 
plain gray trimmed with cut steel, the collar 
fastened with a silver pin. 

“ I think your sister’s dress is very becom- 
ing,” said Ruth, not adding her thought that it 
was much more ladylike without the superfluous 
trimming. 

Downstairs Dr. and Mrs. Neville were await- 
ing their guests. 

“ How do you like their appearance ?” in- 
quired the former. 

“ Very much. They are very stylish people, 
and I expect great klat from introducing them 
into society. I am glad I have a chance to 
show the Hunnewells that our friends are some- 
body.” 


NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 1 57 

Dr. Neville laughed good-humoredly. “ What 
makes people ‘ somebody ’ ?” 

The lady colored a little as she replied, “ I 
know that Mr. and Mrs. Carter are not cultured 
people, but Mrs. Carter is very kind-hearted and 
they have money.” 

Which last item is very important, and un- 
locks the door to ' first society.’ Well,” seeing a 
little look of annoyance steal over the face of his 
wife, “ they have enough of it to assure them an 
entrance there, if that is all.” 

“ I am afraid we shall find Miss Livermore 
rather quiet. I do not believe she is used to gay 
society, certainly.” 

The doctor looked up quickly. “I do not 
know about the gay part, but I do know that my 
friend the doctor associates with people of the 
very highest culture and refinement— the very 
cream of society ; and if I fear anything it is 
that his little daughter will be exclusive.” 

“ Oh, dear ! I hope not. What should I do ? 
The Hunne wells are too much for me.” 

“ Mind, I do not say that she is so, only that 
her surroundings would tend to make her so. 
For the few moments that I saw her she seemed 
the perfection of ease and grace, with a spice of 
dignity too.” 

“ Oh, do not mention dignity ; Mr. Cleaveland 
has enough of that to supply the Stat^!” 


158 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ Paul has a good supply,” replied the doc- 
tor, laughing heartily. “ You will find this little 
lady somewhat different, if I am any prophet.” 

The dinner-bell calling the family together 
prevented further discussion. 

The afternoon passed pleasantly. Ruth was 
pleased with her hostess, and much enjoyed the 
“ do n’t you remember ” with which Mrs. Neville 
and Mrs. Carter brought to mind reminiscences 
of the past. 

After tea a servant entered the room where 
they were all sitting, bearing on a silver tray 
some cards for “ Miss Livermore.” Mrs. Neville 
looked surprised. 

“Some friends of papa’s,” explained Ruth, 
and Mrs. Neville hardly knew whether to be 
pleased or vexed when she heard the names of 
Mrs. and Miss Hunnewell and Mr. Cleaveland. 
She would prefer to have an exclusive right to 
Ruth. However, it was something to have a 
guest whom the Hunnewells wished to cultivate. 
She decided to be gracious. 

“ Show them in here, Ned,” she said. “ As 
Miss Livermore is a stranger, perhaps it would 
be better the last in explanation to the other 
inmates of the room. 

For a few moments there was a confusion of 
voices, then Ruth had a chance to observe the 
newcomers more closely. Mr. Cleaveland sat a 


NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 1 59 

little to one side, conversing but briefly, at first. 
She saw that he was handsome, with large brown 
eyes and clear-cut features. His face, when in 
repose, wore an exceedingly haughty expres- 
sion. His manners were the perfection of gen- 
tlemanliness, though Ruth fancied he would ex- 
press an opinion severely if occasion required. 

She found Miss Virginia Hunnewell quite 
pretty and very affected and her mother in- 
clined to be patronizing, an air which Ruth’s 
quiet ease entirely disarmed. 

Miss Hunnewell gave most of her attention 
to Sarah, to the great delight of that young 
lady ; and Mr. Cleaveland, after having apparent- 
ly taken sufficient observation, engaged Ruth in 
conversation. 

Mrs. Hunnewell and her daughter were ur- 
gent that their call should be returned soon, 
begging the Carters to accept the invitation 
with Miss Livermore ; hoped they would enjoy 
the Sunny South,” and having exhausted their 
store of pretty nothings finally said “good- 
night,” and shaking hands with each one 
stepped into their carriage, where Mr. Cleave- 
land, with a courteous bow, followed them. 

The drive home was a quiet one. Mrs. Hun- 
newell and her daughter went directly to the 
parlor, and Mr. Cleaveland, having nothing 
special to claim his attention, went there also. 


l60 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

Mamma, did you know Miss Livermore 
was to bring friends with her?” inquired Vir- 
ginia, seating herself in a comfortable rocker. 

“ I rather think the friends brought Miss 
Livermore. It was strange Mrs. Neville should 
invite us into the room where they all were 
when we asked for Miss Livermore.” 

“ But, mamma, are n’t you glad she did ? 
do n’t you think they are nice ?” 

“Your question embraces a great deal. I 
think Mr. Carter is a very coarse man ” — 

“ O, I do not mean him,” interrupted Vir- 
ginia. 

“ I told you your question covered a great 
deal. Mrs. Carter is evidently better educated 
than her husband ; a good-hearted woman, rather 
good looking, but not stylish.” 

“ O, mamma, I do not care for Mr. and Mrs. 
Carter. It is the girls I am anxious about. I 
think Miss Carter is just splendid.” 

“ Caught with a gilded bait,” said Mr. Cleve- 
land, sotto voce. 

Virginia paid no attention to him. “ Mamma, 
what do you think?” 

“ I think,” and Mrs. Hunnewell spoke slowly, 
as though forming her opinion with her words, 
“ I think she is a very showy girl, quite good- 
looking, and rather stylish.” 

Virginia clapped her hands softly and 


NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. l6l 

Paul Cleaveland uttered a half - smothered 
“ humph.” 

“ They evidently have money in abundance. 
I think we will take them up. They will prob- 
ably be glad of our influence in introducing 
them to Brownell society.” 

Paul changed his position. 

"“Weren’t her diamonds perfectly elegant!” 
continued his cousin. 

“ And perfectly elegant taste to wear them, I 
suppose,” said Paul sarcastically, with emphasis 
on the adjective. 

“ What are diamonds for?” 

“ To wear, of course. They would sparkle 
flnely when one was wielding a broom.” 

“ Paul, do n’t be a bear ! I do not believe 
Miss Carter ever did menial work in her life.” 

“ Probably not,” returned Paul, thinking it 
hardly worth while to waste words on one so 
shallow as his cousin. 

“ Why, do you suppose, did Miss Mary not 
wear any ?” 

“ I think perhaps she has more real good 
sense than her sister. I agree with Paul that 
there is a fitness in things, even diamonds. 
They should be reserved for large gatherings.” 

“ Perhaps Miss Mary is saving hers for 
some such occasion. I wonder if Miss Liver- 
more has any.” 

II 


l-uths and By-Pathe. 


i 62 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ She wore an elegant ring,” said Mrs. Hun- 
newell. “ I am a little puzzled about her. She 
is certainly very handsome and ladylike, but I 
hardly think she has been accustomed to the 
kind of society we have. Paul, you have some 
intuitive power which usually reads human 
nature aright ; what do you think ?” 

“ I do not think she has,” replied Paul sen- 
tentiously. 

“ Then you do not think she has been accus- 
tomed to mingle in first society ?’! 

“ I never hinted such a thing.” 

Silence enSued for a moment, and then Mrs. 
Hunnewell said, a little anger in her tone, 
“ I should like to know what society you have 
been accustomed to mingle in. You are cer- 
tainly very rude.” 

“ My dear aunt, I beg your pardon,” and a 
hidden laugh sounded in his words. “ You 
asked me a question and I answered it plainly.” 

“ I should think you did.” 

“ Mamma, do you think we had better pa- 
tronize Miss Livermore ?” 

“I do not believe you had,” replied her 
cousin meaningly. 

Virginia pouted. “You are a cross old bear,” 
with which loving epithet she turned her face 
from him. 

“ My dear,” said her mother, “ Dr. Livermore 


NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 163 

is very wealthy. He is from one of the best 
families in Massachusetts and can mingle in any 
society he chooses. I did not know but that in 
carrying out some of his Puritanical ideas he 
might object to his daughter’s being — well — I 
hardly know how to express it — very gay.” 

“ You think my judgment good in such mat- 
ters,” said Paul ; “ before you tell us any more 
of them let me answer your question of a few 
moments ago in detail. I have heard my 
mother speak of them ” — and the tenderness 
with which he pronounced the word ‘'mother” 
showed the loving heart beneath all the proud 
exterior — “and they associate with people of 
the very highest culture and refinement.” 

“And you think we do not. You horrid 
boy !” 

“ Now, my fair coz, do not call names. Do 
you find such people in the ball-room?” 

“ I find the very nicest people there. The 
young ladies are perfectly splendid, and the 
gentlemen exquisite.” 

“You have told the whole story. I have 
nothing more to say.” 

“ Mamma, do not let him be so horrid,” said 
Virginia, half crying. 

“ What can I do with him when he is in one 
of his high moods ? Did you notice how easy 
and graceful Miss Livermore was ?” 


164 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ Yes ! I think her dancing must be the per- 
fection of grace.” 

“ I do not believe you will ever see her 
dance.” 

“ Now, Paul Cleaveland, why not?” 

“ She is not of that kind.” 

“ Do n’t the people she associates with dance, 
or are they too good ?” 

“ Some of them,” replied Paul, leaving her 
to apply the answer either way and refusing to 
discuss the question farther. 

Ruth and the Misses Carter were sitting in 
the room of the former on the following after- 
noon. 

“ How hard it is to realize that it is winter,” 
said Mary, watching the elder ladies as they 
took their places in an open carriage. “ Mam- 
ma and Mrs. Neville are going to drive with 
very light wraps.” 

“ They say,” said her sister, “ that February 
is a very gay month here. Mrs. Neville is going 
to give a reception next Wednesday evening, 
that we may become acquainted with her 
friends. Ruth, did you ever meet Mr. Cleave- 
land before?” 

“ No ! I presume he was at school when his 
mother visited us. Mrs. Cleaveland was papa’s 
particular friend. The families have been inti- 
mate for years, I might almost say for genera- 


NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 165 

tions. Mrs. Cleaveland died several years ago. 

I remember her very well.” 

“ I can tell you all about them,” said Sarah 
with an air of importance. ‘‘The Cleavelands 
are very wealthy and aristocratic, but Mr. 
Paul Cleaveland's mother was immensely so, 
and Mr. Paul has inherited money until he does 
not know what to do with it ; and he is so smart 
that everything he touches turns to gold.” 

“Who told you so much?” inquired her 
sister. 

“ Mrs. Neville. She is quite pleased that the 
Hunne wells have taken such a fancy to m — us,” 
hastily substituting the plural pronoun. They 
lead in Brownell.” 

“ Has Mr. Cleaveland no occupation ?” in- 
quired Ruth. 

“ He is studying law and is very talented. 
He intends to spend a year or two in travelling , 
before settling down to practice. He spent the 
winter in California, and has but recently joined 
his aunt here. Strange that I should know so 
much more about them than you do, Ruth.” 

“ I never asked papa at all. I think his cousin 
resembles him a little.” 

“ It must be in feature,” replied Mary. “ She 
has not a bit of dignity. She is very airy.” 

“ And very pretty,” added Sarah. “ And 
now, what dress will you wear Wednesday night? 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


1 66 

You know we must do honor to our hostess, she 
is taking so much pains for us.” 

Ruth colored a little. I have hardly had 
time to think,” she replied. 

“ Wont you please wear your diamonds ?” 

She understood now, and answered, “ I did 
not bring them.” 

“Not bring them!” repeated Sarah in utter 
amazement. 

Ruth shook her head, and then added, speak- 
ing slowly and very gently, “ Papa does not wish 
me to wear them while I am so young. They 
are old family jewels, and, though I am the old- 
est daughter, I am only eighteen.” 

“Oh, well ! I am twenty, you know,” for once 
rejoicing in her superior two years. 

Ruth was very quiet after the girls left her. 
She was a little troubled just where to draw the 
line — to be “ in the world, but not of it.” 


TESTED. 


167 


CHAPTER XII. 

TESTED. 

Ruth saw nothing more of the Hunnewells 
until she met them the following Wednesday 
evening in Mrs. Neville’s drawing-room. 

Mr. Cleaveland greeted them all courteously, 
and then stood a little one side, evidently, as 
some one near Ruth remarked, preferring his 
own company. 

“ I am sure I am not mistaken,” he thought, 
watching Ruth. And very fair and sweet she 
looked in her dress of pure white ; and Paul 
Cleaveland noticed with pleasure the graceful 
arrangement of every fold, and that the sash 
was of the most delicate shade of pink. For 
this fastidious young gentleman was a connois- 
seur in all that pertained to the beautiful either 
in art or nature. He appreciated the fact that 
Ruth wore no jewelry. He glanced at the other 
young ladies ; there were but few present, yet. 
Virginia wore some light gauzy material cov- 
ered with lace and flowers, very becoming, and he 
did not doubt it would fulfil the wearer’s object 
and attract attention. Miss Carter’s dress was 
pale pink, profusely trimmed with pearl pas- 


1 68 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

semen terie, and diamonds sparkled at throat, 
wrists and ears. No one could object to them 
in such a place, and yet — Paul’s lip curled — “ all 
speaks of money and show,” he thought. “ Why 
can’t young ladies be content to be sought, and 
not thrust themselves upon the notice of peo- 
ple ?” 

Mrs. Hunnewell was still studying the social 
problem. “ Why does Miss Livermore dress so 
like a child?” she was thinking. “ And yet she 
does not look childish. I wonder if she ever did ! 
I declare ! her manners are perfect. I wish Vir- 
ginia would copy them. But, if her father is so 
immensely wealthy, why does he not spend some 
of his money on his daughter ?” She changed 
her position to one nearer Ruth. “ Well, I de- 
clare ! he has^' continuing her mental soliloquy, 
and noticing that Ruth’s dress was of the finest 
texture. 

Meanwhile the rooms were rapidly filling, 
and Mr. Cleaveland could stand by himself no 
longer. Ruth noticed that he seemed to be a 
great favorite, that he had a pleasant word for 
every one ; but somehow she felt that the smile 
was not deep. Eyes and lips shared it, but she 
fancied that he was not specially interested in 
the remarks of some of the young ladies. 

Mr. Cleaveland, while doing his part to make 
the evening a success, continued to watch 


TESTED. 


169 

Ruth. One thing which struck him was the 
attention she paid to every one. She listened 
as though each word were precious. “ But I 
do not believe she is always interested,” he 
thought. “ There goes that brainless Ned Gra- 
ham to bore her with his inanity,” and he 
changed his position just in time to hear Mr. 
Graham say, I am delighted to welcome you 
to our beautiful land — a land of fruit and flowers, 
you know.” 

“ I have found the South very pleasant, 
what I have seen of it,” returned Ruth. 

“ Then you have not been around much ? It 
would give me great pleasure to be your escort 
on an exploring expedition, you know,” and he 
laughed as though he had said something very 
brilliant. “ My carriage is at your service, and — 
well, myself too. When can I have the pleasure 
of taking you on your first drive?” And he 
complacently waited her answer, never doubt- 
ing but that she would name an early hour the 
next morning, and opened his eyes to their 
fullest extent when she quietly thanked him, 
though declining for the present — she did not 
know what plans Mrs. Neville might have for 
them. 

In utter amazement, this young exquisite, 
refused for the first time in his life to be al- 
lowed the pleasure of taking a young lady to 


170 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

drive, found no words at his command, and, 
turning away without even the courtesy of a 
bow, crossed the room to find a more genial 
companion in Virginia. 

“ What a fool I was,” commented Paul to 
himself, “to think she could not take care of 
herself.” 

Sarah noticed that Ruth received as much 
attention as any one in the room, and it began 
to dawn upon her that showy dress might not 
be the only desirable thing, even in first society. 
She saw that Ruth in no way sought attention ; 
that she treated all alike, adapting herself read- 
ily to any topic brought for conversation. For 
the first time she felt a little twinge of dissat- 
isfaction with herself, when she saw Mr. Cleave- 
land leave others that he might be with Ruth. 
There was not a young lady in the room that 
was not more showily dressed than she, not one 
but would feel honored to be noticed by Paul 
Cleaveland, and yet Ruth received the notice 
without the least effort on her part. 

Sarah took her place by Ruth and soon be- 
gan to realize why every one seemed to like her 
so well, when Ruth quietly drew her into the 
conversation, mentioning the subject and then 
leaving her to carry it on, much to her delight 
and the inward disgust of the gentleman. 

The evening passed agreeably. Ruth was 


TESTED. 


171 

pleased with most of the people to whom she 
was introduced, and was surprised, when sum- 
moned to the supper room, to find how quickly 
the evening had passed. 

The table looked very pretty, although at 
first she saw only a glitter of crystal and silver 
and a mingling of bright flowers ; but as her 
eyes began to take in the detail she was sur- 
prised and troubled to find wine-glasses by each 
plate, and to see the sparkle of that liquor in 
decanters on the sideboard. As the waiter 
passed the glowing beverage she noticed that 
no one refused. 

Now Ruth had never been in company be- 
fore where wine was publicly passed to guests ; 
if it had been used at all it was in a room by 
itself and she was none the wiser ; so when the 
waiter came to her she shook her head. She 
saw two or three exchange glances, and felt that 
in some way she had made a mistake. Then she 
noticed that Mary laid her finger on her glass 
and the waiter passed on, and that Mr. Cleave- 
land inverted his. 

Poor Ruth was thoroughly uncomfortable. 
The waiter took her plate and, receiving no order 
from her, proceeded to fill it, when she heard 
Mr. Cleaveland say in a very low tone, which 
reached no ears excepting her own and those 
for whom it was intended, “Put Miss Liver- 


1^2 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

more’s plate down. I will attend to her,” and 
none of the young ladies who looked on with 
envy that she should receive such unusual at- 
tention from one who usually held himself aloof 
from anything marked, heard him say to her, 
“ If you will allow me, I will help you to ices 
which contain no liquor.” 

She thanked him, but the evening was spoiled 
for her. She received the adieus of the company 
and gave no sign of the thoughts which trou- 
bled her. Outwardly she was just the same, and 
Paul Cleaveland wondered if, after all, he had 
not been mistaken and taken more thought for 
her than she did for herself. 

When the last guest had departed the girls 
went up stairs, and Sarah and Mary stopped a 
few moments in Ruth’s room to talk over the 
events of the evening. 

I am very sorry that you two refused wine. 
It is not considered good taste ; it seems like 
a reproof to the hostess.” Sarah spoke more 
gently than usual. 

“ Why should it be considered poor taste to 
refuse wine any more than salads or sweets ?” 
inquired Ruth, with more spirit than she was 
wont to show. 

“ Custom makes it so.” 

“ It is a custom I cannot conform to,” and 
Ruth’s voice trembled. 


TESTED. 


173 


‘'Don’t you know, Sarah, that Ruth and I 
cannot take it ? It is a matter of conscience 
with us and of keeping our word, to abstain 
from the use of all intoxicating liquors as a bev- 
erage.” 

How Ruth thanked Mary for those words of 
faithfulness to principle frankly spoken for 
them both ! 

Sarah colored, and said good - night ; and 
Ruth, throwing her arms around Mary’s neck, 
told her how much she had comforted her, and 
Mary went to her room happy that she, who 
had been so short a time in the Christian way, 
could comfort any one. 

Ruth sat some time in silence. What should 
she do ? What was her duty ? Should she re- 
fuse all social gatherings ? She could not think 
so, and yet she would rather do so than be 
thought peculiar ; and with that word came 
those other words, “ The Lord hath chosen thee 
to be a peculiar people unto himself.” Not pe- 
culiar for peculiarity’s sake, but for Christ’s sake. 
She could not think that she had done wrong ; 
then why did she feel so unhappy ? Would she 
be called upon to do other things that would 
seem like a “reproof” to any one? Well, the 
Bible did not promise exemption from trials, but 
it did promise strength to overcome them. 

Paul Cleaveland assisted his aunt and cousin 


174 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


into the carriage, and taking a seat opposite 
braced himself mentally for what he knew was 
coming. He had not long to wait. 

Mamma,” said Virginia, “ what did you 
think of Miss Livermore and Miss Mary ?” 

“ Why, what ? When do you mean ?’ 

“ At the supper-table, of course.” 

“ I know nothing of Miss Mary’s ideas on 
the temperance question ; but I was not in the 
least surprised at Miss Livermore’s action.” 

“ I do not know that I was,” said Virginia, 
considering. “ It certainly is not counted good 
taste to refuse wine.” 

“ Oh, well. Dr. Livermore is one of the 
strongest temperance men I ever saw.” 

“ She has been educated to it, then ; but she 
might have refused in the proper manner.” 

“ I doubt if she knew how. I do not believe 
she had ever before been where they had wine. 
You know they do not use it as openly in the 
North as in the South.” 

“ Miss Mary knew how.” 

“ I am waiting to hear Paul say, ‘ I told you 
she went into different society.’ ” 

As that individual remained silent, his aunt 
continued, “ I do not mind that, Virginia. I 
wish you had noticed her in the drawing-room : 
her manners are simply elegant. You might 
copy some of them with advantage,” 


TESTED. 


175 


Virginia pouted, but the effect was lost as it 
was too dark to show the expression of her face. 

Mamma, wont you make Paul do differ- 
ently ?” 

“ Have you taken leave of your senses ? 
Do n’t you know no one can make Paul do any 
thing he does not wish to do ?” 

“I think it is too bad for him to be so odd.” 
There were tears in Virginia’s voice. 

“ My dear little coz,” replied Paul, “ I think I 
had better remain away from all such places al- 
together ; then I shall not disgrace you.” 

“ No, oh, no !” replied Virginia quickly, fear- 
ing he might really put his words into practice. 
“ But what is the harm in taking a little wine 
once in a while ?” 

“ Virginia,” and his voice was stern, “ you do 
not realize what you are doing when you ask a 
young man to take liquor of any kind. Now 
understand, once for all : I will never touch the 
accursed stuff !” 

“Oh, you horrid boy,” said Virginia, with a 
little scream and putting both hands over her 
ears, “stop swearing !” 

“ I was not swearing,” he replied gravely ; 
“that is a thing I never do. You use strong 
adjectives — speak of a dress as ‘ awfully pretty.’ 
I do not think adjectives can be too strong to 
express my utter detestation of the state of 


76 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


affairs which will allow society to decoy young 
men, and young women too, to ruin ; for I have 
seen those of the gentler sex when they were 
obliged to be helped to their carriages.” 

“ More shame on them !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Hunnewell indignantly. 

“ Yet you sanction it.” The tone was very 
quiet now, and Paul was not sorry that the stop- 
ping of the carriage prevented further discussion. 

The remaining days of the week were spent 
in receiving and returning calls, and Ruth was 
glad when Sunday morning came, promising 
herself a day of quiet. She prepared for church, 
and, taking her Bible, sat down by the open 
window. 

She did not know that the previous afternoon 
Mrs. Hunnewell had called, and finding Mrs. 
Neville exclaimed, “I have thought of the most 
delightful plan for to-morrow. What do you say 
to driving out to Helensburg?” 

“ To the rice plantations ? I think it would 
be lovely.” 

Now Sarah had been commissioned to tell 
her sister and Ruth, as they happened not to be 
present, and, dreading it, had put it off until the 
last moment. Receiving from Mary a positive 
refusal to accompany them, and remarking, “If 
religion makes people so disagreeable I do not 
want it,” she went to Ruth’s room. 


TESTED. 177 

“ Oh, you are all ready !” she exclaimed, 
thinking to use a little strategy. 

“ All but putting on my hat.” 

“ Well, I think you had better put it on, for 
they will be here in a few moments.” 

Ruth looked up in surprise. “ Church does 
not commence until eleven, and it is only a little 
after nine.” 

“We are not going to church, and they will 
be here in a few moments,” and she unfolded 
the plan for the day, knowing from Ruth’s 
shocked face that her case was lost. “ I wish 
you had told me yesterday,” said Ruth, rising as 
a carriage stopped before the door and the in- 
mates alighted, Paul Cleaveland giving the reins 
to his servant and following them. 

Ruth felt that it would have been much 
easier to have excused herself to Mrs. Neville 
alone; as it was, she quietly approached that 
lady and in a gentle tone begged to be excused 
from accompanying the party, regretting that 
she had not been informed sooner — though she 
did not think her absence would make any dif- 
ference. 

She was not prepared for the chorus of voices 
declaring that it would make all the difference 
in the world. It was a lovely day ; why could 
she not go 1 

Ruth’s heart beat fast ; she struggled bravely 

Paths and By-Paths. I 2 


178 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

and kept the tears in check, blaming herself that 
it was so difficult to tell why. She knew that the 
plea of having made other arrangements would 
not be listened to, and in a low tone, yet every 
word of which was distinct, she said, “ I thank 
you all for your kindness in remembering me, 
and some other day I would be glad to go.” 

The intonation of the word day revealed the 
whole reason. There was a silence of words for 
a moment, but Ruth felt the subtle influence 
of the inexpressible rustle of garments as the 
ladies changed their positions. She saw the 
arch of Mrs. Hunnewell’s brows, the ever-ready 
pout of Virginia, and the look of chagrin on 
Mrs. Neville’s face. 

“I declare,” said Mrs. Carter, wiping her 
eyes, “ it would n’t hurt us all to go with her. 
Mary, I never thought; you ’ll go with Ruth?” 

Mary’s “Yes ” was very distinct. 

“ One thing is sure,” continued her mother : 
“if I don’t go to church I wont go on Sunday 
excursions in future.” 

What Mr. Cleaveland thought Ruth could 
not imagine. He bowed very courteously to her 
as he left the room, but his face gave no clew to 
his impressions. 

It was with a tacit though unspoken agree- 
ment that Ruth and M'ary went to their re 
spective rooms that afternoon. Ruth was much 


TESTED. 


179 


perplexed. Why was the way of duty so ditti- 
cult ? and what was duty ? Why was she so con- 
stantly called to differ from those she longed to 
please ? As she slowly turned the leaves of her 
Bible her eye caught a verse enclosed with a 
line of gold — her way of marking any special 
promise or direction. She read the words 
eagerly, “ Whether, therefore, ye eat, or drink, 
or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.” 
Here was a very plain direction as to duty ; 
nothing could be more simple. Here was her 
marching order. Could she have honored or 
glorified her Heavenly Father by accompanying 
the little party that morning ? 

She had her general command ; she would 
look for something more specific. She turned 
to the twentieth chapter of Exodus and read the 
first three commandments. Here was something 
definite ; a plain answer to her question : “ Re- 
member the Sabbath day to keep it holy that 
was for all. She read on, “ thy man-servant ” — 
they had taken two with them, it was not op- 
tional with the men — “nor thy cattle.” The 
trip required seven horses — four carriage and 
three saddle. Of course no special day was 
binding on them, and yet how kind in their 
Creator to provide for them one day of rest! 
Would they have it ? She read the last clause : 
“nor the stranger that is within thy gates.” 


i8o 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


She had never realized that the Bible was so 
explicit. Plainly, there was nothing left for her 
but to refuse. She wondered if the festive sea- 
son were not almost over, and if she must accept 
all invitations. Help was coming from an un- 
expected source. 

Sarah Carter was not altogether displeased 
that Ruth decided to remain at home. There 
would be no one but herself and Helen to re- 
ceive the attention of Mr. Cleaveland, and of 
course he would not care to bestow much thought 
on a cousin whom he saw every day, even though 
she were pretty. 

But the young gentleman did not seem in- 
clined to give much attention to any one. He 
rode in advance of the carriages, only stopping 
once or twice to be sure they were comfortable. 

“ In one of his high and lofty moods,” his 
aunt said. Whatever his mood, his thoughts 
were busy. He was disappointed that Ruth and 
Mary did not accompany them, and the more 
so as their refusal did seem a little like a re- 
proach to him. He was brought up to rever- 
ence the Sabbath and to attend church. 

He could remember sitting beside his mother 
and listening to the solemn tones of the organ, 
and sleeping through the sermon which he could 
not understand. He had been to church since 
then, and listened to sermons and criticised 


TESTED. 


I8l 


them without a thought that he might as well 
have passed the time as he did when a child, for 
all he was benefited by the real understanding 
of the words upon which he so freely com- 
mented. 

The road led by a little meeting-house where 
the people were assembling for worship, and he 
hurried by, fancying that they looked at him 
questioningly and reproachfully. “ I will join 
Mrs. Carter," he thought, “and veto Sunday ex- 
cursions. I did not think Miss Livermore had 
so much courage — and it takes genuine bravery 
to refuse an invitation like that and give the 
true reason for it. I cannot think of another 
young lady in all my acquaintance who I believe 
would have done so ; and I do not know that I 
much blame them. I believe I could march up 
to the mouth of a cannon easier than I could 
endure the looks of those sneering women." 
And this young man was brave too. He would 
give his life rather than bring dishonor upon 
his name, not realizing that he was taking an 
earthly instead of a heavenly standard. 

“ One thing is sure," still communing with 
his own thoughts : “ those young ladies do not 
like some things they have to encounter, and I 
will see if I cannot institute a new order of 
things." 

While these thoughts were filling Paul’s 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


182 

mind Mrs. Carter was contrasting the lives of 
her two daughters. The change in Mary was 
unmistakable, and her mother was not alto- 
gether satisfied with the contrast it presented 
to the conduct of the elder. But what could she 
expect when Sarah was only following her mo- 
ther ? Mrs. Carter resolved ^hat something must 
be done. 

Somehow the day did not pass as pleasantly 
as it had promised. Mrs. Hunnewell felt that 
her expedition had proved a failure, . and all 
were ready to start for home by the middle of 
the afternoon. And thus it happened that Ruth 
was still in her room when, in answer to a knock, 
she admitted Mrs. Carter. 

“You look bright and happy,” was her 
greeting. “ I declare, I Ve worried about you 
all day.” 

“About me! Why?” said Ruth, seating her 
in an easy chair and placing herself on a hassock 
by her side. 

“I^ hardly know, myself, only I thought 
maybe it was not easy for you to stay at home.” 

“ Easier than to go to-day,” with that same 
inexpressible intonation. 

“Well, I have not enjoyed myself much. 
Somehow I feel as though I were serving Satan, 
and he is noted for being a hard master.” 

Here was an opportunity for which Ruth 


TESTED. 183 

had waited and from which she so much shrank. 
How kind her Heavenly Father was : how easy 
he had made it ! And with a voice trembling 
with eagerness and earnestness she told her 
friend of the longing of her heart. Mrs. Carter 
wiped her eyes and finally sobbed outright. 

“You dear little lamb/’ she said, “ I did not 
dream you cared so much. I ’ll do anything in 
the world to please you ; and I ’d like to be a 
Christian, only I don’t know how.” 

And again this young disciple told the old, 
yet ever new, story of a Saviour’s love. 

“ Do you mean to tell me that all I have to 
do is to love the Saviour?” inquired Mrs. Carter 
in amazement. 

“ Love, trust, and obey.” 

“ But how shall I know just what he wishes 
me to do?” 

“ His orders are very explicit,” replied Ruth, 
thinking of her own blessed experience of the 
afternoon. 

“ The Bible ?” — a little doubtfully. “ I ’ve 
read it a dozen times, but I never found any- 
thing special — yes, I have, too ! He tells us to 
keep the Sabbath holy — why did n’t I think of 
that before? Now, if I can find everything as 
plain as that, it wont take me long to settle the 
question. I declare, I ’ll go and borrow Mary’s 
Bible right off. To think I didn’t even bring 


184 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


one! I’ll buy one the first thing to-morrow,” 
and giving her young friend a hearty kiss she 
ran across the hall and made known her errand, 
nothing daunted by the wide-eyed surprise of 
both her daughters. 

In the quiet of her own room she opened the 
precious volume, saying to herself, “ Well, if I 
have read it a dozen times I do n’t know where 
to look for a single thing. I wonder what these 
marked verses are,” for turning the leaves re- 
vealed the fact that Mary had also lined verses 
which meant much to her. 

“ Here is one : ‘ Seek ye first the kingdom of 
God.’ ‘Seek!’ that’s plain; ‘seek first!’ yes, 
before anything else. I have n’t done it.” She 
continued turning the leaves and communing 
with herself. “ ‘ Seek, and ye shall find.’ That’s 
sure,” and going back she commenced the verse. 
“ ‘Ask, and ye shall receive.’ ‘Ask !’ that means 
pray.” The next words which arrested her at- 
tention were in James, “ But let him ask in faith, 
nothing wavering.” 

She closed the book ; she had found the guid- 
ance she needed and she accepted it as simply 
as a little child. “ I am to seek. I ’ll do it until 
I find. Then I am to ask for what I desire to 
receive. Now what do I want? To be good. 
He has helped Mary and he will help me. And 
then I wish to find the kingdom of God.” 


TESTED. 


185 


She knelt, offering her petitions, never doubt- 
ing that she should receive the answer. Morn- 
ing and evening she read her Bible. Her hus- 
band watched her curiously, offering no com- 
ment. After two or three days she would say, 
“Jack, just hear this,” and read some precious 
promise or some denunciation of sin, to the for- 
mer of which he made no reply and answered 
the latter with a frown. 

A few years after the faithful wife rejoiced 
that she was led to take this step, for, though 
seemingly in vain, she felt that she had done 
what she could. 

She made no secret of the change which had 
come into her life. Sarah thought, “Another 
one to fuss about cards, dancing and dress.” 
And Mrs. Hunnewell remarked, “ How very 
peculiar Mrs. Carter is. She thinks she is an 
entirely different woman from what she was 
two weeks ago. It is all owing to Miss Liver- 
more’s influence. I think we had better keep 
out of it.” 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


1 86 


CHA PTER XIII. 

MANSIONS. 

“Aunt Nellie,” said her nephew, two or 
three days after the Sunday excursion, “ I am 
thinking of giving an entertainment and would 
like the honor of your presence ; also of your 
daughter’s.” 

“ Oh, Paul ! what is it to be, and when ?” said 
Virginia, rousing from her listless employment 
of dipping her spoon in and out of her coffee 
cup. 

“ Softly, softly, fair coz ; one question at a 
time. How would to-morrow do, and what do 
you think of Dungeness ?” 

“ O-oo !” ecstatically cried his cousin. “How 
lovely! You always do think of such nice 
things ; that is,” seeing a laugh in his eyes, 
“when you have a mind to. Whom are you 
going to invite ?” 

“ Only a few. My principal thought was to 
give Mrs. Neville’s guests a chance to see the 
place.” 

“Why don’t you let Mrs. Neville take care 
of her own guests?” Mrs. Hunnewell spoke 
a little spitefully. She had not forgiven the two 


MANSIONS. 187 

guests whom she mentally accused of spoiling 
her attempt to give them pleasure. 

“ Paul,” said Virginia disconsolately, “ is that 
all you are going to invite ?” 

“ Look out for your grammar, fair coz ! No, 
I shall add two or three young gentlemen.” 

“ Oh, Paul !” brightly, “ be sure and invite 
Ned Graham.” 

Her cousin quietly left the room. 

“ He wont ! I know he wont !” 

“ Why can’t you let him alone, Virginia ! He 
will have his own way, and if you behave your- 
self you will have a fine time. You know every- 
thing he undertakes is a perfect success. I am 
very proud of Paul, with all his vagaries.” 

The next morning dawned warm and fair. 
The little party were at the wharf in good sea- 
son. Servants had preceded them carrying 
wraps, and when they went on board the 
steamer they found everything which kind 
thoughtfulness could suggest prepared for their 
comfort. 

“ What is Dungeness, any way ?” inquired 
Mrs. Carter. 

“ Why, do n’t you know, mamma ? It is an 
estate on Cumberland Island.” 

What estate ? and what makes it celebra- 
ted ?” 

“ It is the southern portion of the island, 


i88 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


given to Gen. Greene for services rendered in 
the war of the Revolution. I believe, however, 
that he never lived there. After his death his 
widow married again and settled on the island. 
Her husband reclaimed the land and built a 
splendid mansion there.” 

“ Here we are,” called Mr. Pratt, one of the 
party, as the boat stopped. “We are on time 
this morning.” 

A boat was soon lowered, in which, after 
sundry little feminine shrieks, the party were 
safely seated, and a row of about ten minutes 
brought them to the shore. There was no sandy 
beach ; a pebbly ridge extended for some dis- 
tance, and then they entered a rough road with 
the prospect of shade. From the distance they 
seemed to be approaching a wood, but on com- 
ing nearer they found themselves in a long ave- 
nue lined on both sides with great overspread- 
ing oak trees, whose branches met overhead, 
forming a grateful shade. The bright green 
leaves contrasted harmoniously with the gray 
Spanish moss which was festooned in fantastic 
shapes from branch to branch, or hung like pen- 
nons gently waving in the light breeze. The 
road was covered with a short growth of grass, 
giving the appearance of a soft carpet. 

“ How lovely !” and “ How beautiful !” were 
the unanimous expressions of all ; and then they 


MANSIONS. 


189 

walked on in silence a few moments. Mrs. Car- 
ter was the first to speak. “ Is there no end to 
it?” 

“ Are you tired ?” said Paul, offering her his 
arm. 

Oh, no ! but I thought there was a mansion 
somewhere.” 

The road was very sinuous, but after follow- 
ing it for about a mile they came out into a 
large open space, and a little distance before 
them stood the ruins of a large house. 

“ How many gay cavalcades of knights and 
dames have probably cantered over the road and 
stopped here,” said Ruth, as they crossed what 
had probably been an immense lawn and paused 
in front of the house, which was roofless and 
without partitions or floors ; in fact, nothing but 
the four walls remained. 

“ I think the rooms were large enough to 
accommodate your cavalcade,” said Mr. Pratt, 
calling attention to their probable height and 
size. 

“ How did it take fire ?” inquired Mary. 

“ It was supposed to be the work of negroes.” 

“ How convenient to have them for scape- 
goats ! I declare, I believe I ’ll take a few to 
Linden with me for that purpose,” remarked 
Mrs. Carter good-naturedly. 

The party walked around the ruins and then 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


190 

dispersed in different directions, all but Ruth ; 
she found a shady place and sat down on a broad 
stone. In imagination she restored the rooms 
and peopled them with sentient forms, wishing 
the walls had power to repeat their history. 
Then she became very quiet, and it was thus 
Paul Cleaveland found her after a while. He 
paused a moment to look at her, questioning 
what attracted him so. It was not beauty of 
feature alone, though she possessed that to an 
uncommon degree. Before he could decide she 
changed her position slightly, noticing then that 
she was not alone. She did not start nor change 
color, as Paul assured himself most young ladies 
would have done. 

He lifted his hat. “We missed you, and I 
came to find you,” he said, thus simply excusing 
his presence. “You enjoy the old ruins?” he 
continued inquiringly. 

“ Very much, though I was not thinking of 
them just now.” 

Her companion would have gladly asked her 
thought, but accorded to her the same courtesy 
his dignity demanded for himself; so a little 
silence fell between them. His expectant air, 
however, led her to think she ought to explain 
what her thought had been. 

“ I was thinking,” she continued, “ of better 
and more durable mansions than this.” 





MANSIONS. I9I 

Paul seated himself at a little distance and 
looked at her inquiringly. 

“ You know the Saviour says, ‘ In my Father’s 
house are many mansions. I go to prepare a 
place for you.’ ” 

“ How comforting to think that heaven is for 
all — for every one.” Paul saw that his answer 
did not accord with her thought. 

“ Do you think every one would be happy 
there?” she inquired. 

“ No, I do not,” he answered, the incongru- 
ity of the proposition striking him for the first 
time. 

“ And yet — who would be happy there ?” 

Paul felt unable to answer the question. - 
“ Whom was the Saviour addressing ?” he asked. 

“ His disciples.” Ruth’s words were gener- 
ally few on such occasions. 

“ Those who do all the good they can in this 
world and again he saw that his words did not 
meet her unspoken thought. He looked at her 
inquiringly. She slowly shook her head as she 
asked, “ Have you ever met any one who did 
that ?” 

He was forced to answer in the negative. 

“ But surely. Miss Livermore, you believe that 
good works do save people ?” 

“ The Bible says, ‘ By grace are ye saved 
through faith ; and that not of yourselves ; it is 


192 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


the gift of God: not of works, lest any man 
should boast.’ ” 

“ Of course, one should not boast. We are 
told not to let our left hand know what our right 
hand doeth.” 

Now this young man of good sense and edu- 
cation knew this was poor logic. He also knew 
from the quiet face before him that its owner 
saw the weakness of his argument. He was 
greatly amazed at himself. 

“ Does not the Bible say that every man’s 
work shall be tried ?” 

“Yes, but whom is Paul addressing ?” 

Had she asked him a question in Trigonom- 
etry, History, or Astronomy, he probably would 
have answered it correctly. A few moments 
before he would carelessly have replied, “ Every- 
body.” He was learning to consider his answers 
before committing them to words. 

“He is speaking to Christian people,” con- 
tinued Ruth. “We are to be rewarded for our 
works after we become his subjects, not be- 
fore.” 

“ But does not the same book tell us * to let 
our light shine so that men may see our good 
works ’ ?” 

“ Yes ; but to whom was the Saviour speaking 
then ?” 

“ To the people in general, I suppose,” 


MANSIONS. 


193 


Ruth smiled, and quoted the passage : “ ‘ And 
seeing the multiudes, he went up into a moun- 
tain ; and when he was set, his disciples came 
unto him.’ Still his disciples.” 

“Miss Livermore, you have some theory that 
I cannot understand. I believe that every 
good deed receives its reward, and that our en- 
trance into heaven depends entirely upon those 
deeds.” 

“ How many good deeds does it require ? Let 
us presume that one thousand is the minimum 
number, and you perform only nine hundred and 
ninety ; would all be lost because of the failure 
of that one ?” 

“ I cannot think so. I believe I must do all 
that I can, and leave it there.” 

“Why not try the other way?” said Ruth, 
rising. 

“ What other way ? ” 

“ Salvation is ‘ the gift of God, through Jesus 
Christ our Lord,’ ” quoting again. 

He shook his head, and they passed quietly 
around the house, crossed the long space on the 
right and descended a terrace. On the left were 
several cabins, some of them still occupied, and 
spread before them was the garden. All the 
trees indigenous to a Southern soil grew here, 
and many, more tropical, had been imported. 
The garden must have been beautiful when 

Paths and By-Paths. I ^ 


194 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


cared for; it was pleasing now, even in its 
neglect. 

Under the branches of protecting trees the 
negroes had built a table of boards. This was 
covered with the finest of damask and silver, 
glass and china held the viands, and sweet flow- 
ers brightened the whole. 

After they were seated Ruth noticed among 
the waiters a little negro of ten or twelve years ; 
he stood with his hands in his trousers pockets, 
wistfully eying every dish as it was placed upon 
the table. When the ices were served his eyes 
opened to their widest extent and were full of 
unspoken wonder. 

“ Here, you, Sam Patch !” called Mr. Pratt, 
“ did n’t you ever see ice-cream before ?” 

The young specimen of the African race 
shook his head. 

“ Do you mean to tell me you never ate any 
ice-cream ?” 

“ Nebber did, massa, for sure,” he replied, 
shifting uneasily from one bare foot to the other 
under the eyes of the whole company. 

“I suppose you believe him,” said Virginia 
disdainfully. 

“ Nebber did, missis, no how ; but my grand- 
father had some once.” 

“ When ?” called some one, as soon as the 
laugh which this reply elicited was quiet. 


MANSIONS. 195 

“ When his young Massa Stewart was mar- 
ried." 

“ Here," said Paul, filling a dish, “ we will 
soon see whether you tell the truth." 

Sam took it with shining eyes, carrying all 
the spoon would hold to his mouth. A shudder 
ran over his frame. 

“ What is the matter?" inquired Dr. Neville. 

“ It ’s cold ; but it ’s mighty good, though," 
smacking his lips and disposing of the rest 
rapidly. 

“ I guess he told the truth," said Sarah. Paul 
replenished the dish. 

“ He will never tell his grandchildren if you 
give him any more," said Mrs. Hunnewell. 

It was a merry meal, and Mrs. Carter’s .sug- 
gestion, at its close, that they visit the cemetery, 
had no effect in subduing their mirth. No one 
excepting Ruth, however, seemed at all inter- 
ested in the little family lot to which they all 
adjourned. It evidently had not been cared for 
in years. The wall was broken, high grass and 
weeds covered the graves, and some of the 
stones lay prone. 

Sarah declared that everything connected 
with death made her gloomy for a week, and 
hurried away, followed by all excepting Ruth, 
who lingered, trying to decipher the inscrip- 
tions which time and the weather had nearly 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


196 

obliterated. She was aroused by hearing Mr. 
Pratt exclaim, “ All aboard ! steamer leaves in 
thirty minutes,” and looking up saw Mr. Cleave- 
land evidently waiting for her. 

She walked quietly through the lane into the 
road, noticing the tangle of vines on the wall, 
and comparing this road with the broad avenue 
into which they soon entered, and thinking of 
the difference in the processions which had 
passed over both. 

They reached the landing just as the steamer 
came in sight, and the sail home was a pleasant 
ending to a pleasant day. 

The next morning Mr. Cleaveland called. 
He could only stop a moment ; he had heard 
some of the ladies say they would like to see all 
they could of Southern life. There was to be a 
meeting that evening in the little church in the 
woods ; would any of them enjoy going ? 

The young ladies expressed great delight at 
the prospect ; so Paul agreed to call for them at 
half-past seven. That hour, accordingly, found 
them on their way. They followed the main 
road for half a mile, and then turned abruptly to 
the left, leaving the regularly travelled way and 
following a bridle path. Tall trees shaded each 
side, and beyond them was a tangled growth of 
palmetto, vines and shrubs. The full moon 
seemed to hover just above the tree-tops, cast- 


MANSIONS. 


197 


ing shadows of the flickering leaves upon the 
ground. The grey moss, swaying in the even- 
ing breeze, seemed like gaunt fingers beckoning 
them on — on into the darkness of the thick 
woods ; for, as they advanced, the growth of 
trees grew more dense, the branches meeting 
and interlacing over their heads and shutting 
out the rays of the moon. 

“ This is too weird for me,” said Sarah. 
“ Why did the colored people build their church 
in such a place ?” 

“ It will not be far now,” said Paul encour- 
agingly. 

They soon came into an open space where 
two or three paths seemed to meet, and right 
before them stood a low, unpainted building, of 
most primitive style. 

*‘Is that it?” said Sarah contemptuously. 

“What did you expect to find ?” inquired her 
sister. “ They are probably not in circumstan- 
ces to build a cathedral.” 

The interior was a little more cheerful : the 
walls had been recently whitewashed, and above 
the desk was a single hanging lamp. A rough 
bench was placed around three sides of the 
room, and the centre was filled with cumbrous 
wooden settees. 

Most of the people had assembled and were 
singing, keeping time by clapping their hands 


198 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

on their knees and drumming their feet on the 
floor, while their bodies swayed from side to 
side. 

Mr. Cleaveland saw that the young ladies 
were greatly interested ; he also noticed that 
with Sarah it was the same feeling of curiosity 
which would have claimed her attention for any- 
thing which was novel, while her sister and 
Ruth, though evidently surprised, yet recog- 
nized the fact that the people had met to wor- 
ship God, and preserved the same decorum they 
would have accorded to a more imposing assem- 
blage. 

The singing continued some moments, and 
then the leader offered prayer. Ruth noticed 
that, while the grammar was faulty, the devo- 
tional spirit was sincere and earnest. He read 
from the ever-beautiful fourteenth chapter of 
John, mispronouncing several words and being 
faulty in his theology in several instances as he 
attempted to explain those wonderful words ; 
and Ruth wondered if Mr. Cleaveland was think- 
ing of their conversation of the day before, and 
if there was not some special reason why they 
were there and why the minister should choose 
those particular words. 

Several gave their testimony, and then an 
old woman on the front seat rose. . She turned 
slowly around, facing the audience and leaning 


MANSIONS. 199 

her .trembling hands on the top of her cane. 
Her form was bent and her face wrinkled. 

“ My brudderin and sisters,” she said, “ I 
sha’n’t be here many times mo’ ; I ’s gwine 
home. I ain’t had much o’ dis yere world’s 
goods, but I ’s got treasure laid up in hebben. I 
libs in a poo’ little hut here, but my Saviour s 
preparing a mansion for me up dar. You’s 
hearn ’bout dem to-night. Hab you got one 
dar? Is he a-preparing one for you? An’ it’s 
free ; it ’s gwine to be gib to me ! S’posin’ I ’d 
had to earn it, what could I ’a’ done ? All my 
young days I worked fur ole massa, an’ he hab 
all my wages; an’ when I was freed I didn’t 
know nuffin but to pick cotton. I could n’t neb- 
ber earned 'nough, an’ He knowed it, an’ so He 
got it all ready for me. He ’s forgibben my 
sins, an’ it ’s all free grace. I ’s ’mos’ dun got 
t’rou’ wid dis yere world. I sha’ n’t tote many 
mo’ weary loads. I ain ’t got nuffin to lebe be- 
hind me, but ebery t’ing will be gib to me when 
I gits to my mansion.” 

Tears filled Ruth’s eyes. The old woman’s 
humble faith seemed to her priceless. She 
looked at Mr. Cleaveland. He sat very erect, 
his handsome face immovable ; evidently the 
thought that he needed the same kind of grace 
that the old negro woman had spoken of did 
not once enter his aristocratic head. Of course 


200 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


she could never earn heaven. If he gave the 
subject a thought, it was probably that the One 
who prepared the mansions took but little 
thought for such people as were assembled there, 
his own little company excepted. 

Ruth sighed ; would anything ever rouse him 
or Sarah ? The latter was yawning ; evidently 
the novelty was over for her. 

They lingered a few moments after the bene- 
diction. The people were singing, men and 
women shaking hands, reaching across each 
other in every direction until they formed an 
irregular circle, swaying back and forth and 
keeping time with their feet. 

“ Do they usually end with a dance ?” said 
Sarah. 

Ruth watched them a moment, and then, see- 
ing the old woman whose words had touched 
her standing alone, crossed the room to speak to 
her. 

“ Is Ruth going to shake hands and sing ?” 
said Sarah, at the same time wondering how he r 
friend could speak with and notice all kinds of 
people and not lose caste. “ I could not do it,” 
she thought, “ without losing caste.” And Mr. 
Cleaveland, whtching the graceful figure, que- 
ried whether it would be possible for her to do 
anything unladylike, and whether kind words 
would be reckoned as good deeds, and, if Ruth 


MANSIONS. 


201 


did not depend, upon them, why she was so care- 
ful to perform them ? 

The subject of these thoughts did not sing, 
but from the old negro’s heart rose a paean of 
thanksgiving when she found the hand which 
“ young missis ” had shaken was not empty. 

The walk home was a quiet one. Paul made 
no comment, but walked gravely up the steps, 
pulled the bell, waited until the servant opened 
the door, lifted his hat and was gone. 

“ I wonder if he ever whistles,” said Sarah. 

“ What an idea !” replied her sister. 

“ Well, I know he is perfectly unapproach- 
able when he has a mind to be. I should think 
he had a mortgage of all creation in his pocket 
by his mien. But he is awfully nice,” added 
Sarah to herself. 

Ruth thought of the friend who did whistle ; 
and Paul, walking home with firm tread, was 
still positive that good works must secure an 
entrance into heaven. 


202 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AFTER MANY DAYS. 

In one of the principal hotels of London two 
young men were sitting in a pleasant room. 
They had been conversing, but were sitting 
quietly now. Without, the afternoon was wear- 
ing itself away in grayness and the shadows 
were creeping into the corners of the room. 

The younger man rose and stirred the fire 
which was burning in the open grate, and then 
placing himself in a large easy-chair watched 
the result. 

“ There !” he said as the warmth and bright- 
ness were diffused through the room, “ that is 
more cheerful. And so, Alleyn,” turning to 
his companion, “you start for home to-mor- 
row.” 

Ralph Alleyn, for it was he, acquiesced in the 
statement. He looked much the same as when 
he had bade Ruth good-bye, a little more than 
a year ago ; and yet a close student of human 
nature would have detected a slight change, not 
in form or feature, but of expression. There 
was a depth of emotion in the dark eye, a re- 
pose in the handsome face, which were lacking 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 203 

that memorable evening when he was introduced 
to the young ladies at Mrs. Carter’s. 

“ Well, my play-day is over. I might as well 
commence study at once. We have passed a 
pleasant six weeks together, and I am glad I 
met you. By the way, it is a little strange, but I 
I have not the least idea where your home is 
and you have never asked me about mine.” 

Had Richard Stearns travelled six weeks 
more with Ralph Alleyn he would not have 
made the last remark, for he would have learned 
the fact that his companion rarely asked person- 
al questions. 

“ I am something of a cosmopolite,” Ralph 
replied to the first part of the statement. “ Phil- 
adelphia has the honor of being my birthplace,” 
he continued, smiling ; then, after a pause, “ My 
parents died when I was quite young, leaving 
me with an elder brother, in the care of an aunt. 
She still superintends the homestead in my na- 
tive city and my brother is with her. Most of 
my life has been spent in boarding-schools, acad- 
emies and colleges.” 

“ Have you finished your studies?” 

“ Yes, and no. I have changed my plans some- 
what. I came to Europe with the intention of 
perfecting myself in medicine. To be a skilful 
physician in some special line has been my object 
in life until recently.” 


204 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ How fortunate to possess plenty of means, 
so that you can alter plans at will !” 

Richard had forgotten that without over much 
of this world’s possessions he had changed the 
whole tenor of his life. His companion looked 
grave as he said, “ It does not take wealth 
to direct into a different life-path. When I left 
America I was very skeptical in all matters per- 
taining to personal religion. I thought those 
who professed to follow the tenets of the Bible 
were no better than others.” 

“ And have you changed your mind ?” 

“ Altogether. I met one who convinced me, 
against my will, that it was possible to be in the 
world and not of it.” 

Silence again for a few moments. Richard’s 
thoughts reverted to one whose image filled his 
heart and he wondered what Ralph Alleyn would 
think if he could meet her, and who it was that 
had power to influence this strong life. 

“ I wonder,” continued Ralph, speaking more 
to himself than to his companion, “ why our lot 
has been cast together for the last few weeks. 
We have never met before, but I had heard of 
you.” 

The hazel eyes opened wide. “ How ? I did 
not know that I was celebrated in any way.” 

“ I spent one evening in Linden.” 

Richard started and sat upright. 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 20$ 

“ I was invited to a little gathering at Mrs. 
Carter’s, given by her elder daughter.” 

“ I did not know that you were acquainted 
with them.” 

“ I was not. The invitation came to me 
through Mr. Parmenter, whom I had met a few 
times. Your name was mentioned by some of 
the young ladies with regret that you were not 
present.” 

“ Yes ; I was in college.” 

Silence again. Richard felt that he must 
know more of that evening. Ralph Alleyn was 
not a person one liked to question ; he was al- 
ways courteous, but reticent about his affairs. 
Richard ventured to ask if he left for Europe 
soon after that evening, and received a grave 
affirmative. 

I started the next day, and I immediately 
commenced the study of the Bible. I dropped 
everything else. I soon learned that the incon- 
sistencies of Christians had nothing to do with 
me or I with them. It was a personal matter, to 
be settled by myself. The Saviour’s words to 
Peter, ‘What is that to. thee f follow thou me,’ 
guided me ; they fastened themselves in my 
mind, and for days I seemed to hear nothing 
else. The waves repeated them by day, and the 
winds by night. After I reached land I found a 
quiet place and literally fought my way through 


2o6 paths and by-paths. 

the Bible. I was thoroughly in earnest, and 
one by one the old prejudices left me and I 
came out into the glorious liberty of the know- 
ledge of Christ.” 

Richard listened attentively, but the question 
he longed to have answered still remained un- 
asked, and no light had come to him through 
the words of Ralph. The conversation must be 
kept up until in some way he could learn that 
which he so much wished to know. 

‘‘Why should changing your views alter 
your plans ?” 

The reply was not ready, and when given 
sounded to the listener like an evasion. 

“ I still hope to use my knowledge of medi- 
cine, but perhaps a little differently from my 
first thought of it ; possibly in connection with 
other work.” 

It would not do to question farther in that 
direction, and, steadying his voice, Richard in- 
quired if the one who was the means of bringing 
the subject of personal religion to his notice was 
present at Mrs. Carter’s. 

Ralph paused so long that the questioner 
feared that in his eager desire for information 
he had overstepped the bounds of politeness. 
Ordinarily Ralph would have refused to answer, 
and he was surprised at himself that some im- 
pulse prompted him to reply in the affirmative, 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 


207 


and add, I think some higher power directed 
her, otherwise nothing would have ever con- 
vinced me as she did and then he related the 
circumstances connected with that evening. 

Still no name was mentioned, and forcing 
himself to speak naturally Richard asked if the 
singer was Miss Livermore. 

“Yes; you are acquainted with her and the 
other young ladies. How did you happen to se- 
lect her? Was it not because she always lets her 
light shine ? You know it is said of some in the 
olden time, ‘ And they took knowledge of them 
that they had been with Jesus.’ I am trying 
to live so that the same may be said of me.” 

Richard was glad that the shadows had so 
deepened in the room that even the firelight 
could not dispel them, for he felt as though the 
damp and chill of the atmosphere had touched 
his heart and the greyness his face, and he would 
not have Ralph Alleyn know it. 

The latter rose, after a few moments, saying 
that he had some arrangements to complete for 
the morrow. “We have been companions for a 
few weeks,” he added, “ and I am glad we are 
both journeying in the narrow way towards the 
heavenly city. We shall meet there, and, I 
hope, many times here during our pilgrimage.” 

The door closed and Richard was alone. He 
rose and paced through the room, slowly at first. 


2o8 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Ruth had met Ralph Alleyn and she would soon 
see him again. He would be sure and find her, 
to thank her for the new impulse she had given 
his life. He was handsome, cultured, refined, 
and manly, with wealth at his command — not 
that she would care for the latter; but, above 
and beyond all, this same young man was an 
earnest Christian, growing daily in spiritual 
knowledge. 

Richard recognized this last fact, and con- 
trasted it with his own life. What made the 
difference ? He certainly started well. “ Who 
did hinder him to run?” He reviewed his life. 
Did Ruth care for him ? Yes, he knew she did ; 
had she not told him so ? and yet the very frank- 
ness of her answer troubled him. She did not 
return his love. 

Would it have been different if he had not 
become more “ liberal ” in his views ? He re- 
called the first time he attended the theatre. 
His room-mate was going, and urged him to 
accompany him. He had refused several times 
and been laughed at, and other classmates had 
invited him and ridiculed his refusal, until finally 
he had yielded. Many who frequented such 
places were church-members ; perhaps he was 
too strict. He had been brought up strictly ; but 
then his father was a minister. To be sure, he 
was studying then with the purpose of follow- 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 20g 

ing his father, but people were not so Puritani- 
cal now. 

He did not enjoy the first evening very 
much. He knew his parents would be grieved ; 
and Ruth ! what would she think of it ? She 
was young, and quite likely would agree with 
him — after a while, at least. 

The second time he went he felt more at 
ease. He fancied that the play was higher in 
tone, more elevating. He would be very care- 
ful and select the best ; and so he continued to 
attend occasionally, ascribing his general lack of 
relish for prayer-meetings to their dulness, and 
did not see why they could not always be as in- 
teresting as when he was first converted. Look- 
ing back over it now, he knew he had lost spirit- 
ually, and could see no way to retrace his steps. 

And the first game of cards ! It was one 
stormy evening and just one was lacking to 
make a set, and Richard did not like to seem 
disobliging ; after that it seemed as though the 
sets were always lacking one. But Ruth had 
refused under similar circumstances — and he 
knew how timid she was, how much she disliked 
to say no. What if he had not told her of his 
faults ! But no ! Richard Stearns was the soul 
of honor, and not even to win Ruth’s love would 
he in any way deceive her. 

He could not enter the ministry as he was. 

Paths and By-Paths. 1 4 


210 


PATHS And by-paths. 


and teaching was really more to his taste. 
Would Ruth have felt differently under other 
circumstances ? He could not tell. He would 
not be a hypocrite even to win her love, and he 
could not give her up. 

All the while these thoughts had been run- 
ning through his mind he had continued his 
pacing through the room until he found himself 
weary ; lighting a lamp, he seated himself at 
the table and drawing his writing materials to 
him commenced an epistle to Ruth in which he 
poured forth his whole heart. He would be any- 
thing, do anything she wished him, drop every- 
thing to which she objected, if she would only 
return his love. 

After finishing, he read it over carefully, 
sealed it and, going into the street, dropped it 
into a letter-box. 

The next day Ralph Alleyn started for 
America, and evening found him on the deck of 
the steamer, leaning over the rail as he had a 
year ago. Just the same apparently, and yet 
how different ! This young man was energetic 
and whole-hearted in whatever he undertook, 
and he had consecrated himself fully to the new 
life upon which he had entered. Time, health, 
wealth, all were laid upon the altar. 

He was not quite sure what the Master would 
have him do, so he was waiting. Waiting, but 


AFTER MANY DAYS. 


2II 


not idle. Daily he found some poor unfortunate 
to relieve, some one who needed cheer and sym- 
pathy, or some soul sitting in darkness whom he 
tried to lead to the light. 

That same day Richard Stearns started for 
Germany, and the same wind wafted these two 
gifted young men farther and farther apart. 
Much had been given them — much would be 
required of them. 

Ralph stopped in Philadelphia a while, and 
then went north. And the letter upon which 
so much depended for its writer awaited Ruth’s 
return. 


212 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE INDIAN RIVER. 

“ All aboard for the Indian River !” said Dr. 
Neville, one bright morning a few days after 
the excursion to Dungeness, as the steamer 
came in sight of the little party who stood on 
the wharf waiting for it. Dr. Neville had coaxed 
his patients to get well, or at least to convalesce, 
and the remaining inhabitants of Brownell to 
put off all manner of sickness while he piloted 
his guests, with the Hunnewells and Mr. Cleave- 
land, to the Indian River. 

The steamer was comfortable, and the two 
days’ sail up the St. John, though uneventful, 
was very enjoyable. The first night was spent 
in Jacksonville and the second in Palatka, and 
about noon the next day they obtained their first 
view of the beautiful Indian River. 

As soon as the confusion of selecting rooms 
was over Ruth slipped away unobserved and 
went to the beach, which was only a few rods 
from the hotel. 

A small grove at the left extended to the 
very strand, and was slightly elevated above it. 
As Ruth approached she saw that it was full 



Paths and By-Paths. Page 213 



THE INDIAN RIVER. 21 $ 

of robins, hundreds of them flying around or 
hopping on the ground, and the first homesick 
feeling she had experienced came to her with 
the sight of them. How eagerly dear little Daisy 
watched for them in the spring! how bright 
and happy they looked ! 

Ruth stepped up on the bank to be near them, 
and finding a fallen tree sat down. The after- 
noon was a little hazy, and sky and water seemed 
blended in one lovely shade of blue-gray. The 
tiny waves broke on the whole length of the 
white sand with only the sound of a low mur- 
mur. Ruth enjoyed the quiet. 

“ I wonder for what purpose I am here,” she 
thought. “Was it needful that I should come 
away to Brownell to speak to Mrs. Carter? Is 
there anything for me to do here ?” 

She thought of Sarah, with longing that she 
should be a Christian. She had grown more 
gentle and refined in her manner; that was a 
cause for thankfulness. And then her thoughts 
went to Richard. A Christian she believed him 
to be, but she felt that he had stepped aside and 
was wandering in a by-path, and a little prayer 
rose from her heart for this friend of her child- 
hood, short but earnest. 

Very pretty she looked as she sat there, and 
so Paul Cleaveland thought as he quietly ap- 
proached some moments later. 


214 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ I beg your pardon,” be said, lifting bis bat. 
“ I missed you, but did not know you were 
here.” 

I tbink tbe robins attracted me, they look 
so bomelike.” 

“And made you homesick ?” be inquired, 
scanning ber face closely. 

“ A little at first ; but I was not thinking of 
them now,” and as her companion remained si- 
lent, she continued, “ I was wondering why I 
came to the Indian river.” 

“ Why, to see it, and have a good time.” 

“ Y-e-s,” slowly, “ but I mean for what other 
purpose ;” and seeing tbe puzzled look on bis 
face added, “ you know I believe our steps are 
ordered of the Lord — if we are following him.” 

Paul, standing a little back of ber, looked 
down at her wonderingly. This fair young girl 
was a constant wonder to him. 

“ Do you tbink you were sent here on some 
mission ?” 

“ I do not know ; but wherever I go I look 
for indications of the will of Providence.” 

“ I cannot think as you do,” he said. “ I do 
not believe in a certain something given to 
every one just for the asking.” 

This young man’s logic failed again. Ruth 
never wished to argue with him. He could si- 
lence, if not convince her. She felt utterly una- 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 


215 


ble to cope with him in any words she could 
use, but she felt impelled to reply, “We are 
all alike in one thing : the Bible says that ‘ all 
have sinned, and come short of the glory of 
God.’ ” 

“ Not all alike, of course.” 

How could she convince him that he was 
guilty of the one great sin of refusing the sacri- 
fice made for all ? She remained silent, and he 
repeated his statement. 

“ Not all alike,” he said. “ For instance, do 
you suppose that you or I could possibly stand 
on a level with that old colored woman who 
took part in the meeting a few evenings ago?” 

“ I do not know that she has not lived up to 
the light she possessed quite as well as we 
have,” said Ruth bravely. “ Her words cer- 
tainly indicated it.” 

“ Miss Livermore,” and the tone was haughty 
in the extreme, “ I should prefer not to be classed 
with such people.” 

Poor Ruth ! she knew that she had offended 
him, and again came to her mind the thought of 
the struggle it would cost this proud young man 
to humble himself and become as a little child. 
She replied, very gently, rising at the same time, 
“ Not in position, of course, nor in education. I 
cannot explain.” 

And Paul, looking at her, wondered more 


2I6 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


than ever. Why did she care for the old negress, 
any way ? Why did she not just have a good 
time, like other young ladies ? Did n’t she ? He 
had never seen any one more evenly happy, 
and again he compared her with other — fashion- 
able acquaintances. There was a little shadow 
on her face now ; had he caused it ? “I beg 
your pardon,” he said, “ if I have hurt your feel- 
ings. I do not understand you but his form 
was very erect as they approached the hotel. 

“What has happened to Paul?” said his 
aunt, who was sitting with the others on the 
piazza; “he is walking with his head in the 
clouds.” 

“Do not speak to him, then, for pity’s sake !” 
replied Virginia. 

Sarah, watching them, wondered a little 
enviously how Paul seemed to find Ruth if she 
were alone, and escort her home. And yet — for 
Sarah with all her faults was usually honest — 
he had extended courtesy to them all and in 
no way had Ruth sought his attention. Indeed 
she thought she had held herself aloof, and 
wondered at it. 

“ A sail on the Indian River and a visit to 
Dummet’s grove,” said the doctor, as they came 
within speaking distance. 

“ How charming !” replied Ruth. 

“They have not quarrelled,” thought the 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 


217 


doctor. “ If they had it would be all Paul’s 
fault, and I should feel like throwing him into 
the river.” 

The next day was a perfect success. They 
voted the Indian River more lovely than ever, 
and surely there were no oranges like those 
which came from Dummet’s grove, fresh picked 
from the tree. 

“ Oh dear !” said Virginia, the next morning, 
“ Sunday and rainy ! how dismal !” 

'‘I am going to church,” responded Ruth 
brightly. 

“ I wonder where you will find one,” was Sa- 
rah’s comment. 

“ I am sure there is no church in Titus- 
ville,” said Mrs. Hunnewell. 

No, they hold their services in the school- 
house.” 

“ That little hut !” There was the greatest 
contempt in Sarah’s voice. “ It must be a 
colored people’s church.” 

“ No, the preacher is a young man from the 
North, named Otis. Some colored people attend. 
It is the only service held here.” 

“ Well, I am sure I shall not go in this pour- 
ing rain.” Mrs. Hunnewell was very decided. 

“ It is only a few steps,” said Mrs. Carter, 
and I am neither sugar nor salt. I ’ll go.” 

“ And I,” added Mary. 


2i8 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


No one else responded, and at the appointed 
time the three ladies appeared with water-proofs 
and umbrellas, and greatly to the chagrin of 
Sarah, Paul stood on the piazza ready to accom- 
pany them. 

“ I think I will go everywhere Ruth does,” 
was her silent comment. She was glad that 
Paul held his umbrella over her mother, while 
Ruth and Mary walked together. 

The school -house was a small unpainted 
building, and Ruth paused on the threshold in 
sorrow and dismay. The walls were black with 
smoke, the windows dim with accumulated dust, 
but sufficient light came through to show the 
utter dreariness of the room. 

It was furnished with a few hard- wood desks 
and benches, both showing that the scholars 
owned knives and were not afraid to use them. 
Opposite the door was a stove, and Ruth did 
not wonder that it was rusty when she saw that 
there was no chimney, but the funnel was carried 
out through a square opening in the roof through 
which the rain had dripped until it lay in little 
pools on the floor, and she could hear it falling 
through the opening into the funnel, then into 
the rusty stove. 

Just beyond, out of range of the rain-drops, 
was a common deal table and back of it sat the 
preacher. His face wore a weary, discouraged 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 2ig 

look, which brightened at sight of the strangers. 
Only eight or ten others were present. 

Ruth was pleased with the sermon, which 
was simple but earnest. Sunday-school was 
announced to follow the service. Mrs. Carter 
looked at Ruth. 

“ I think I will stay ; do not feel obliged to 
remain on my account, any of you.” 

Paul, without allowing the ennui he felt to 
show itself, took a seat by the door. 

A few children came in, and all was ready. 
There were only two classes; one taught by 
Mr. Otis and one for the children. No Sunday- 
school papers were given out and no library 
books. 

At the close of the school Ruth spoke with 
Mr. Otis, and learned that he was nearly dis- 
couraged ; he could not work successfully, for 
lack of means. More children might be induced 
to come if they could have books and papers. 

Immediately the drawer full of unused pa- 
pers she had seen in the Sunday-school library 
at home came to Ruth’s mind, and Paul saw her 
writing in her address book; but neither Paul 
nor Ruth ever knew all the good which resulted 
from writing in that little book. They could 
not realize the joy with which, a few weeks 
later, Mr. Otis received a barrel containing Sun- 
day-school papers, library books, some new sing- 


220 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


ing-books, and a small donation in money from 
a few friends in Linden. 

Ruth enjoyed telling the girls of her scheme, 
and was very grateful for the interest they mani- 
fested and the substantial aid they rendered, 
but she did not know that Mr. Otis had been 
just ready to abandon the field, and that the do- 
nation caused him to change his mind and re- 
main, and also doubled the numbers of the 
school in a few weeks. 

To be sure, she received a letter giving her 
some idea of it, but the interest thus aroused 
grew, and long after Ruth was forgotten the 
church remained. 

The sun was shining brightly when they 
reached the hotel at the close of Sunday-school, 
and after dinner, as they were all standing on 
the piazza, Virginia, remarking that the morn- 
ing had been insufferably dull, proposed that 
they should take a walk, view the town, and 
have some fun. 

“ I had my walk this morning,” said Mrs. 
Carter. 

“ Could n’t you go again, or was the distance 
so great it wearied you?” Mrs. Hunnewell 
looked amused as she asked this question. 

“ I presume I could go again, but I do n’t in- 
tend to,” and she seated herself comfortably in 
an arm-chair, looking up good-naturedly. 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 


221 


Virginia gave her accustomed pout, and then 
her face settled into decided crossness. The 
morning had evidently not tended to put her in 
good spirits. “ And you are too good to go, I 
suppose,” she said, glancing at Ruth. 

The angry blood rushed to Ruth’s cheeks; 
it was not altogether the words of Virginia, but 
something in the tone which touched her. She 
bit her lip, but before she could reply, Paul, with 
flashing eye but cool dignity, turned to his 
cousin and said, “ Virginia, have you taken 
leave of your senses ? I am ashamed of you.” 

“It is none of your business,” retorted his 
cousin, now thoroughly roused. 

Paul walked into the house. 

“There, Virginia,” said her mother, “now 
you have offended him. There is no danger of 
your ever being accused of goodness.” 

“ High-ti-tity !” said the doctor. “ Go and get 
your hats ; let those go who wish, and the others 
remain.” 

They were ready in a few moments. “ Where 
is Mr. Cleaveland?” inquired Mrs. Neville. 

“ Oh, he will have to come down from his 
high tone considerably before he will favor us 
with his company,” replied his aunt. 

Sarah was sorry that she decided to accom- 
pany them. “Why did I not do as I said I 
would — follow Ruth ? We will see in future,” 


222 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


she thought, walking after the others discon- 
tentedly. 

Ruth and Mary, who had remained, seated 
themselves near Mrs. Carter. The flush faded 
slowly from the cheeks of the former, and she 
was very quiet. 

Mrs. Carter watched her a few moments. 
“ Never mind that little flighty thing,” she said. 
“ I would not give her a second thought. Sup- 
pose we get our Bibles and study the lesson for 
next Sunday.” 

They complied. Ruth was still very much 
disturbed, but mingling with the feeling of 
anger was one of sorrow that she should have 
allowed for a moment one unkind thought to 
fill her heart. However, she would not spoil 
the afternoon for the others, and soon they were 
busy with the lesson, and thus Paul found them 
a little later. Ruth was not glad to see him, but 
Mrs. Carter was in nowise disturbed. 

“ Get your Bible and join us,” she said. 

“ I have none — at least with me.” 

“ Well, I did n’t have when I came to Brow- 
nell. You can get one.” 

“Not here — nor to-day.” 

Mrs. Carter laughed good-naturedly, and 
asked him a question about the lesson, and as 
the subject happened to be one upon which they 
could agree the time passed pleasantly. 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 223 

Ruth’s thoughts were not all with the lesson. 
“ Why can I not be as easy and good-natured as 
Mrs. Carter is,” she soliloquized. “ She does not 
seem to get angry easily, and she is never 
ashamed to confess the Saviour.” 

The others found her rather a silent compan- 
ion, but allowed her to have her way. 

Sarah’s heart was filled with envy when the 
party returned and she found Paul sitting near 
Ruth and holding her Bible. 

After tea was over, Ruth, with a longing to 
be alone, watched her opportunity, and thinking 
she was unobserved stole quietly away, intend- 
ing to go to the river ; but before she had taken 
many steps Sarah called and asked her where 
she was going. 

There was no help for it, and as quietly as she 
could she replied, “ To the river, just for a mo- 
ment.” 

“ Let us all go,” said Mrs. Carter. “ It will 
be our last chance to see it in the evening.” 

Ruth waited, and heard Virginia say to Sarah, 
“ I thought it was wicked to walk on Sunday.” 
She intended her words for no ear but Sarah’s, 
but was aware, after they were uttered, that they 
were heard by both Ruth and Paul. 

Poor Ruth ! the day which had dawned in 
clouds and rain was ending in cloudless splen- 
dor; but the morning which had been so full 


224 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

of joy for her had turned to darkness and 
grief. 

She stood a little apart from the others and a 
hush fell on them all. The sun had disappeared, 
but the clouds still reflected his glory and tinged 
the waters with a flush of brightness. 

“ I wonder what there is about this river that 
is so quieting,” said Mrs. Neville. 

“ I think it must be its silence,” replied Mary. 
“ I feel as though I were looking away into vast- 
ness and being enveloped by it.” 

“ It reminds me of another river and another 
shore.” Mrs. Carter’s voice was tender and sol- 
emn. 

“ What ?” inquired the doctor curiously. 

“The river of death and the shore of eter- 
nity.” 

“Oh, mother !” said Sarah, “ you make us as 
solemn as owls.” 

Her mother passed her words, and in a voice 
full of tender feeling said, “ My dear friends, we 
shall probably never stand here together again, 
but we must all cross the other river and stand 
on the other shore : are we ready ? ‘ And the 

Spirit and the bride say. Come. And let him 
that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let 
him take of the water of life freely’.” 

No one spoke, and they turned with hushed 
thoughts and walked towards the house. 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 225 

All but Ruth. The words of her friend were 
all that was needed to break down her self-con- 
trol completely. Turning, she walked slowly 
down the sand, weeping bitterly. 

Why could she not control her feelings bet- 
ter? would she ever learn? Some words like 
those Mrs. Carter had spoken had filled her 
heart, but the thought that her friends had seen 
her anger silenced her lips ; and then she was 
forced to own she had been almost glad of the 
excuse, wrong as it was, which permitted her to 
remain silent. 

How was it that Mrs. Carter spoke of these 
things so easily and so fearlessly ? She had only 
walked in the narrow way such a little time. In 
answer there came to her mind the Saviour’s 
words, “ Except ye be converted, and become as 
little children, ye shall not enter into the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

Lacking many things in culture which the 
others possessed this woman was like a lit- 
tle child in this respect, and thinking of her 
now Ruth pronounced her in every sense beau- 
tiful. 

And the others, stepping softly under the in- 
fluence of her words, accorded to her a tender- 
ness they had never felt before. Dr. Neville 
never forgot her words, and they bore fruit after 
many months. 

Paths and By-Paths. I ^ 


226 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

Paul and Sarah missed Ruth at the same 
moment. “ I will go and walk back with her,” 
said the latter. 

“ Will you trust her to me ?” inquired Paul. 
“ I will bring her back in safety.” 

Sarah felt herself dismissed, and quiet was 
gone from her heart. 

Ruth was still walking slowly, striving to 
calm her feelings that she might join her 
friends, when suddenly she found Mr. Cleave- 
land at her side ready to escort her back to the 
house. 

I know of some one who has been a good 
soldier to-day,” he said after a little. 

“Was she not grand?” replied Ruth, her 
thoughts reverting at once to Mrs. Carter. 

Paul bit his lip. “ I was not thinking of her 
at all. I am conversant with a little Scripture. 
Is there not a verse something like this : ‘ Bet- 
ter is he that ruleth his spirit than he that 
taketh a city ’ ? ” 

“Yes; but that does not apply to me in the 
least,” replied Ruth, beginning to see the trend 
of his thoughts. “ I was very angry.” 

“ How could you have controlled your spirit 
if you had not been? There is no virtue in 
being good simply because you cannot help it.” 

“ That surely does not apply to me. I can 
help it. I did not put the feelings out of my 


THE INDIAN RIVER. 22/ 

heart as I ought ; and then I was very glad of 
an excuse to evade duty.” 

She spoke humbly, evidently thoroughly be- 
lieving that she was far from right. Her com- 
panion could not reply to the last statement, as 
he did not understand it. 

“ I think you blame yourself too severely,” 
he said soothingly. “You had reason to be 
vexed. I was, I assure you ;” and then he 
allowed the subject to drop, drawing her atten- 
tion to the beauty of the scene, and, turning, 
they slowly retraced their steps, and Ruth was 
glad that twilight had deepened and that only 
the stars in the deep blue vault above lighted 
them to their friends, for she knew that her face 
would betray her disquietude. 

She was not sorry that they separated in a 
few moments, and that in the quiet of her own 
room she could review the events of the day. 


228 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

HOME AGAIN. 

The following Wednesday evening found 
the little party safe in Brownell once more. 
The doctor said there was never a time known 
when the people were so well and so happy as 
during his absence. 

The remaining days until Monday were 
passed quietly with Mrs. Neville, and Tuesday 
they were to start for home. Mrs. Hunnewell 
and Virginia were to accompany them as far as 
Philadelphia, and Paul would see them through 
to the city ; he had business there. 

“What do you suppose takes Paul Cleave- 
land so far North?” inquired Mrs. Neville of 
her husband. 

“ Business that will not admit of delay,” 
replied the doctor tersely. 

“What can it be?” But the doctor would 
not tell. 

Ruth thanked her kind host and hostess 
most heartily for all they had done to make her 
visit pleasant, and Aunt Ellen would have been 
horrified could she have heard the earnestness 
with which she urged a return of the visit. 


HOME AGAIN. 


229 


It was with real regret that Ruth said good- 
by to her many friends and acquaintances. 
They parted with the Hunnewells at Philadel- 
phia, with promises of visits to be exchanged in 
the near future. 

The last few hours of the journey seemed 
longer to Ruth than all which had preceded 
them ; but they came in sight of Linden at last, 
and as they steamed into the station she caught 
sight of two wistful blue eyes. 

“ There is Daisy !” she exclaimed, and they 
all stood aside that she might pass out first ; and 
when Mr. Cleaveland stepped to the platform a 
few seconds later he saw her with one hand in 
her mother’s, her father’s arms around her, and 
her little sister clinging to her dress, and heard 
a voice exclaim, “ Perhaps you think no one else 
cares to see her, John Livermore !” 

Ruth turned to her aunt, but only for a mo- 
ment, for the girls were there, and Merry’s voice 
called, “ Tote her over here !” 

Paul stood aside, an interested spectator, lis- 
tening to the confusion of voices, until above all 
he heard Sarah say, “ Here is someone who is 
very anxious to see you, Ruth. Clarence has 
been inconsolable since you have been away.” 

Sarah’s words were effective in giving a touch 
of hauteur to Ruth’s greeting of the young man, 
an air which Paul had never seen her wear be- 


230 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


fore, but which he thought extremely becoming. 
He noticed the eagerness of the welcome on the 
part of the gentleman ; but Ruth turned away as 
soon as politeness would allow, and going to her 
mother’s side, near whom she was standing, said, 
“ Mamma, this is my friend, Mr. Cieaveland,” 
and, “ Papa, this is Mrs. Hunne well’s nephew.” 

And now, out of the confusion, Ruth assumed 
her natural ease and introduced Paul to her aunt, 
the girls, and Mr. Parmenter. 

Paul replied to both the doctor’s and Mrs. 
Carter’s invitation to go home with them with 
thanks, but he would stop in the city and see 
them the next day. 

Supper was waiting when Ruth reached 
home, and a very happy meal it was. The even- 
ing passed pleasantly, Ruth giving an account 
of her visit, until her mother exclaimed, ‘‘ How 
thoughtless we all are ! You must be weary with 
your long journey. We are so glad to have you 
with us again I fear it has made us selfish. 
Here is a letter which came a day or two ago, 
too late to forward to you. Read it and go im- 
mediately to bed.” 

Ruth went to her room and, lighting the gas, 
looked at her letter. “ A foreign postmark and 
Richard’s writing !” she said, breaking the seal. 

She read it through slowly, carefully, and 
then leaning back in her chair gave herself to 


HOME AGAIN. 


231 


thought. Her heart was very heavy ; she felt as 
though a weight were resting on her. Did she 
love Richard Stearns? Yes, she certainly did. 
Could she give him the love which he asked ? 

Very carefully she reviewed her life. She 
would make no mistake it was possible to avoid. 
She remembered him from her earliest days. 
He was the playmate of her childhood, the cham- 
pion of her school days, the firm friend of her 
girlhood. Had she ever regarded him as other 
than a friend, a brother? She was sure that 
until the evening before he left Linden she had 
never thought of him in any other light, and 
that it was only his words that presented the 
possibility to her that she could entertain differ- 
ent feelings towards him. She never had. 

Did she now ? Most certainly, no ! If he had 
not changed his plans, but carried out the prom- 
ise of his earlier years, would her feelings have 
been different ? She paused some time over this 
question. She hardly thought it possible ; but 
one thing was sure : no matter what his future 
might be she could never give him the love he 
asked for, and he must be made to understand 
this and not mention the subject again. 

Richard was alone in his study when, ten 
days later, Ruth’s reply was handed to him. He 
read it eagerly, hope dying from his heart and 
color from his face as he proceeded ; and then. 


232 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


commencing at the very date, he repenised it, 
weighing every word. 

He realized that it was final and conclusive. 
Ruth Livermore had written understandingly, 
giving meaning to every word she had penned, 
and she never would be to him more than the 
friend she had been in the past, the friend she 
hoped to be in the future. 

Could he give her up? He must. Alto- 
gether ? At present, yes ; and yet — that meant 
never to hear from her. No ! he would school 
himself to think of her as she wished. Not 
now. Oh no ! it would take the discipline of 
months, perhaps years. He was glad the ocean 
lay between them. Later, after years, he would 
go home. In the meantime he would give him- 
self to study. He was young. Perhaps in the 
dim future he could meet her calmly when her 
name was not Ruth Livermore ; but whatever 
the future brought to him it could contain 
nothing half as sweet as his brief dream of 
happiness had been ere he told his love to this 
fair young girl. 

That night Richard Stearns, kneeling in 
prayer, in loneliness and grief, came nearer to 
realizing something of the love which the sym- 
pathizing Saviour is ever ready to bestow than 
he had for months before. 

“ Gemman in de parlor to see Miss Libber- 


HOME AGAIN. 233 

more,” announced Jennie at Ruth’s door, a few 
days later. 

Ruth took the card and could hardly believe 
that she read the name aright, “ Ralph Al- 
leyn.” 

He was standing by the window and did not 
notice her quiet entrance. “ Just the same, only 
handsomer,” was her mental verdict as he 
turned and she caught an expression on his 
face which was not there the first time she met 
him. 

He came forward eagerly, and the greeting 
was most cordial. Ruth was pleased that he 
entered at once and easily into conversation, 
omitting all meaningless remarks and speak- 
ing of places and things he had seen and 
in which he knew she would be interested. 
And then with a voice full of gratitude and a 
face beaming with joy, he said, “ Miss Liver- 
more, I have crossed the ocean to find and 
thank you.” 

Now most young ladies would have dis- 
claimed all knowledge of the fact that the 
gentleman was under the slightest obligation 
to them, and would have wondered what he 
meant. But Ruth never used nor accepted 
flattery ; the one thought which came to her, 
causing her heart to throb with joy, was that 
Ralph was a Christian. She looked at him with 


234 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS, 


shining eyes. He recognized and understood 
her thought. 

“ I need not ask you if you remember the 
events of the only evening we ever spent to- 
gether. I bade you good-by with my confidence 
in myself and my theories greatly shaken. I was 
forced to admit the power of Christian influence. 
There was no one with whom I could converse 
on the subject had I been so inclined, which 
I was not. The words of your song followed 
me, but I could not make them harmonize with 
inconsistencies I had seen in Christians. I now 
believe it is possible to be a follower of Christ 
and yet not be wholly consecrated. I know of 
no other way to account for so many incongru- 
ities. However,” and his face lighted with that 
rare smile peculiar to himself, “ I have nothing 
to do with that and he related the experience 
he had given to Richard, adding, “ I soon com- 
menced to pray, and you know the inevitable 
result. The light dawned more and more, and 
my peace is like a river.” 

No one looking into the happy face would 
doubt it. 

Will you sing those words for me again ?” 
he said, rising. 

Ruth joyously complied, and this time she 
did not sing alone. 

“ Thank you,” he said, extending his hand as 


HOME AGAIN. 


235 


she rose. “ I intend to remain in the city for 
some months and hope to see you often. I hope 
to prosecute the study of several languages, and 
know of no place where I can do so as advan- 
tageously as here.” 

Ruth went directly to her room after his 
departure and was quiet for a long time, but 
thought was very busy. Her reverie was not al- 
together satisfactory. She was perplexed about 
several things, which, as the power to solve 
them was not in her own hands, she wisely left 
for the future. 

Paul came in the afternoon, and told her he 
had decided to remain and study awhile in the 
city instead of going abroad. He had played 
long enough, and must give the few months 
needed to fit him for his work. 

“ How strange !” replied Ruth. “ I have an- 
other friend who is going to spend a short time 
there : you will be glad to meet him which 
last statement Paul somewhat doubted. 

As the days grew warmer the girls spent the 
time much as they had the previous summer, 
only they all had a little feeling of what Mary 
termed “ grown-up-ness.” “ It is not half as 
nice,” she added ; “ and all I have to say is, have 
just as good a time as you can, for I do not be- 
lieve we ever shall all be together again in just 
the same way,” and the sweet face was sober for 


236 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

two minutes. They had their good time, how- 
ever, and Merry was the life of the party, prov- 
ing her right to her sobriquet, 

Ralph and Paul soon became firm friends, in 
spite of the preconceived prejudices of the lat- 
ter. Very few could resist the kindly influence 
of Ralph, and beneath his somewhat haughty 
exterior Paul carried a warm heart. 


TRIED AND TRUE. 


237 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TRIED AND TRUE. 

Merry ran lightly up the doctor’s piazza 
steps humming a little snatch of song, curls and 
ribbons fluttering in the light breeze. 

“ Oh, Ruth ! I heard you — I beg your par- 
don, Mr. Cleaveland. I was not aware that you 
were here : and it is no use — I cannot be digni- 
fied.” 

“ I would not advise you to try,” replied Paul, 
looking admiringly down on the little maiden 
and handing her a chair. 

“What were you about to say?” inquired 
Ruth. 

“ I heard you had received a letter to-day 
from Mr. — Mr. — ” 

“Otis?” 

Merry nodded. . 

“Yes ; and he sends thanks to you all for the 
books and papers — ” 

“ Hear, hear !” interrupted Merry. “ Why 
do you not say, ‘ thanks me,’ or ‘us ’ ?” 

“ That would mot be like her.” 

“That is a fact, Mr. Cleaveland. She does 
not care for honor at all.” 


238 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ But I had little to do with this, you know.” 

“ I should have thought you might have 
done more. You only told us of the poor dear 
little church until we wept sympathetic tears, 
and then hinted of the good a donation of books 
and papers would do, paid all the bills, and — ” 
Oh, Merry, Merry !” interrupted Ruth. 
“ What a naughty little girl she is !” 

The little pout reminded Paul of his cousin. 

Miss Livermore does not believe in good 
deeds,” he said mischievously. 

“ Probably that is the reason she does so 
many,” quickly retorted Merry, in doubt whether 
the young man knew half the goodness of her 
friend. 

“ She does not believe that anything depends 
on them, as purchasing the divine favor.” 

“ And are you one of the foolish persons who 
do ?” inquired Merry, moving her chair so that 
she could face him. 

“ I am afraid that I am.” His haughtiness 
was unassumed. 

Ruth was very sorry that the subject had 
been introduced, but she reflected that she was 
in no way accountable for it, and good might 
ensue.. Merry was evidently determined to do 
what she could, for she continued, “ Now, Mr. 
Cleaveland, I shall not argue with you, for you 
could silence me immediately — to convince 


TRIED AND TRUE. 


239 


would be more difficult — but I will say to you 
as I do to my little brother and sister, ‘Now 
you be good and I will tell you a nice little 
story.’ 

“ My father had an intimate friend. He was 
honest, industrious and frugal, and in process of 
time became immensely wealthy. I believe that 
is the approved style ; is it not ?” 

“ Go on,” replied Paul, laughing. 

Merry was sober enough as she continued. 
“ About a year ago this man was taken ill, a^nd 
after a while his physician told him he could not 
recover. The sick man was very much dis- 
turbed : he reviewed his past life, and could find 
no special fault with it. He had been honest, 
had given of his means to the poor, and donated 
as much as the average of people to charitable 
objects. Still the future looked very insecure to 
him. What should he do ? One day some friends 
called and advised him to leave his money for 
religious objects, assuring him that a good deed 
like that would ensure him an entrance into 
heaven. He did so, and I presume you would 
say he attained his object.” 

“ I do not know why not.” 

“ Well, after his death, his wife and children 
objected decidedly to this disposition of his 
money. The case was carried into court. It was 
found that the will was made too near to his 


240 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

death, and the property was given where it 
legally belonged. Now if that man had entered 
the celestial city because of the giving of his 
money in a certain direction, of course, when his 
plan was frustrated, he must immediately come 
out of that place unless the will is taken for the 
deed.” 

Ruth glanced at Mr. Cleaveland, wondering 
what he would say, and this was his reply : “ Miss 
May, you would make a good lawyer.” 

No, thank you,” with a little grimace, “ my 
reasoning would have no more effect on a jury 
than it has in changing the mind of this very 
learned audience. Good night,” and before Paul 
could ask permission to accompany her home 
she was down the steps and out at the gate. 

The summer, like others, passed all too quick- 
ly. The girls had followed Merry’s advice and 
had just as good a time as they could. Had 
it brought to them all they had hoped ? 

Sarah Carter, sitting under the shade of a 
large tree in her father’s grounds at the close of 
a bright September day, and reviewing the past 
months, was filled with bitter disappointment. 
Paul Cleaveland was going away, how soon she 
did not know ; but she did know that when he 
bade her good-by it would be with no thought 
of her, other than that she had been one who 
had tried to make the days pass pleasantly. 


TRIED AND TRUE. 


241 


Nannie, sitting on her front doorstep, was 
singing softly to herself. She was so happy, so 
thankful. Her new book had been a decided 
success, and, aside from this, there had come to 
her a sweet joy which only one other shared, so 
recently that it seemed too sacred to commit 
to the keeping of even the dearest friend, and 
yet she realized it would be known before long. 

Ruth, too, was reviewing the past days. She 
stood by the drawing-room window watching the 
setting sun, whose last rays shining through the 
glass brightened the color in her cheeks and 
nestled in her abundant hair. Judging by her 
face her memories were not all pleasant, or it 
might be the future looked a little cloudy ; cer- 
tain it was that a light shadow rested on her 
face, which disappeared, however, as a moment 
later she opened the door in answer to Paul 
Cleaveland’s knock. 

There was a certain grave earnestness in his 
face which betrayed the errand on which he 
had come — to make her the offer of his heart 
and hand. 

Very ardently he urged his plea. There 
was much to commend it to Ruth’s acceptance, 
and she saw that to refuse him would prove an 
unspeakable disappointment. It was not there- 
fore without great pain that she felt constrained 
to give a negative answer. 

paths and By-Patha. j ^ 


242 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


He was unwilling to accept this, and con- 
tinued to plead. “ The first time I saw you,” he 
said, “ I was interested in you. You were un- 
like any one I had ever met. You were a con- 
stant study and revelation to me, and my interest 
increased until it has ripened into an affection 
so deep that nothing can change it.” 

“ Mr. Cleaveland,” was her reply, “ do not 
think I am unappreciative of the honor you 
confer upon me, and, believe me, I would not 
willingly wound your feelings ; but I must 
repeat my answer. I cannot accept what you 
offer me.” 

He arose, slowly crossed the long room and 
stood by the window for some moments ; even 
she must not know how deeply he was moved. 
When he came back to her it was with a little 
of his haughty manner, but his tone was gentle 
as he said, “Miss Livermore, do you realize 
that you have taken all the brightness from my 
life? But you are not to blame. In no way 
have you given me reason to think that you 
cared for me more than for others, and I would 
not be selfish ; it is your happiness I desire 
above all else. And now,” he said, “ will you 
tell me why you cannot accept my love?” 

“ How can two walk together,” she answered, 
“ unless they be agreed ?” 

His lip curled a little as he replied, “Is it 


TRIED AND TRUE. 


243 


possible that you refuse me because my views 
are different from yours on theological ques- 
tions ?” 

She shook her head. “ Hardly that. I should 
not put it so.” 

“ What then ? Because I am not a church- 
member ?” 

“ Even this does not meet the case,” she 
answered firmly. “ It is because my heart and 
life are consecrated to the service of Christ ; and 
in this you would not be in sympathy with me.” 

He would not urge her further, realizing 
that he was not a Christian and that nothing 
he could say would alter her decision. His 
heart was very rebellious as he bade her fare- 
well, yet he honored her all the more for being 
true to her convictions. It would have been 
hard to describe his feelings as he entered his 
room and locked the door. Astonished he cer- 
tainly was ; he had not really expected the 
evening to end thus. What more could any 
young lady ask than he could offer ? Only the 
one thing. Then why not become a Christian 
if that would win her? He might join the 
church, if that were all, but he knew that it was 
not all ; and he would not stoop to anything that 
was not honorable — and he was not at all sure 
that if that objection were removed her answer 
would be different. 


244 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


In the loneliness of her own room Rnth 
passed the saddest hours her life had ever 
known. She believed she had done right, and 
yet she knew the intensity of Paul’s feelings, 
the nobility of his nature. He possessed every 
thing that could be desired but the one great 
essential need. She knew he would not soon 
forget her ; that in a way he might seek to be- 
come a Christian, but that seeking for her sake 
alone he would never find. She thought of 
others who had married in such cases, and in 
every instance their standard of religion was 
lowered and the believing party was brought 
more and more into the world. She felt the 
wisdom of the injunction, “Be ye not unequally 
yoked together with unbelievers,” and remem- 
bered who had said, “ He that is not with me is 
against me.” She was comforted and strength- 
ened as she took up a book of poems which lay 
on the table beside her, and her eye caught those 
beautiful words of Miss Havergal : 

“Just to let the Father do 
What he will ; 

Just to know that he is true, 

And be still ; 

Just to follow hour by hour as he leadeth, 

Just to draw the moment’s power as it needeth.” 


NEWS. 


245 


✓ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

NEWS. 

Merry curled herself comfortably in a large 
easy-chair in Dr. Livermore’s library, laying her 
head against the back. It was a cool, crisp 
evening in November ; the firelight played 
hide-and-seek in her golden curls, and the blue 
plush against which she rested showed the ex- 
treme delicacy of her fair complexion. 

Bessie silently drew the attention of the 
other girls to her as she sat there in unconscious 
beauty and grace. Long years after these girls 
spoke of Merry, and recalled the childi.sh purity 
and loveliness of her face as they remembered 
her on this particular evening. These were the 
days in which to store up precious memories of 
girlish friendships — friendships growing stron- 
ger as the years rolled by. 

‘‘ I hope none of you will go away this win- 
ter,” said Edith; “I am sure there is no other 
place half so pleasant as this.” 

“You cannot expect to spend the season in 
Dr. Livermore’s library, though I agree with 
you that it is very lovely,” said Merry. 

Just then the door opened and Ethel came 


246 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


in, throwing her hat and wrap on the sofa and 
exclaiming, “ Oh, girls, have you heard the 
news ?” 

“ Perhaps we have, and perhaps we have 
not,” responded Merry. How do you suppose 
we can tell unless you impart your knowledge 
to us ?” 

“ Is it about Nannie ?” 

“ What has Queen Nan done now?” 

“ One would think by your tone, Bessie, that 
Nannie was in the habit of doing most wonder- 
ful and unaccountable things,” said Mary. 

“ So she is ; but I am glad you have not 
heard, though of course you mistrust. Nannie 
is engaged.” Ethel uttered the last word with 
great impressiveness. 

“ How lovely !” and “ How horrid !” mingled 
like one comment. 

“Who says ‘horrid’?” inquired Bessie. 

“I do,” and Merry’s eyes filled with tears. 
“ Did n’t I tell you we would never spend an- 
other summer just the same?” 

The girls looked a little sober for a moment, 
but Ethel was too excited to be quiet long. 
“ Why do not some of you ask to whom she is 
engaged ?” she said. 

They all laughed at her. “ Of course it is 
Mr. Alleyn. Wont they be a handsome couple !” 

They all agreed with Bessie ; none of them 


NEWS. 247 

were surprised at the fact, although they had not 
looked for it quite so soon. 

“ Let us all go over and congratulate her." 

It was Bessie who suggested it. The others 
fell in with her idea very readily and soon they 
were tripping across the fields, now brown and 
sere with the chill and wind of autumn. 

Nannie received them with a shy grace en- 
tirely new to her, trying to look unconscious. 

Bessie made a low obeisance, at the same 
time saying, “We have come to congratulate 
you." 

“ I think he is the one to be congratulated." 

“ Wait until we see him," said Merry ; but in 
a moment more Nannie was surrounded by her 
friends, all thoroughly in earnest to assure her 
of their pleasure that her future looked so 
bright. 

“ Better join hands and sing ‘ Johnnie Brown ’ 
as we did when we were little mites, commen- 
cing with the second verse, ‘ Oh, what a beauti- 
ful choice you ’ve made !’ " 

No one but Merry would have thought of 
such a thing, and Nannie, fearing they might 
follow her advice, slipped away from them, ex- 
claiming, “ Girls, how you do act ! Sit down and 
behave yourselves, if it is possible." 

Merry pushed a low ottoman to Nannie’s side 
and buried her face in her lap to hide her tears. 


248 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

“ Marie, what a baby you are !” said Sarah. 

“ He is not going to carry you off immedi- 
ately, is he?” questioned Edith. 

Nannie hesitated a moment, and then said, “ I 
do not know why I should object to telling you 
our plans.” The color heightened in her cheeks. 
“We shall probably be married in June — ” 

“ Oh, how lovely !” interrupted Edith ; “ the 
month of roses.” 

“ And Ruth’s birthday,” came in smothered 
tones from Merry. 

“ Our plan is to go abroad : in fact, to go 
round the world. Mr. Alleyn,” the name was 
spoken hesitatingly,” is anxious to become ac- 
quainted with mission work, and we expect to 
visit the different mission stations of the world.” 

“ Oh, Nannie,” it was Edith who spoke and 
her tone was very eager, “ are you going to be a 
missionary ?” 

“ I would like to, but I hardly think so. Mr. 
Alleyn is not quite sure of his work yet, so it 
will be a good time for us to travel.” 

“ His life work is to do good and to labor for 
his Master,” said Ruth, “ and he is fulfilling that 
mission daily.” 

Nannie looked her thanks at Ruth ; those 
were the words she prized above all that had 
been uttered that evening. Her face was very 
grave, and as these happy girls bade her good 


NEWS. 249 

evening, some of them at least realized afresh 
that life was “ real and earnest.” 

I have thought of something perfectly love- 
ly,” vSaid Merry, as soon as they were outside the 
gate. 

“ I am glad if you can see anything lovely to- 
night : what is it?” said Ethel. 

Merry made a little grimace which was lost 
in the darkness. “ You know that Nannie is 
very busy with her book, and she ought not to 
leave it for anything ; and there is all her sew- 
ing” — Merry paused. 

“ I do not see anything lovely in that,” said 
Edith. 

“Let us take the sewing right out of her 
hands, and go to her house once or twice a week 
and work under her supervision.” 

“ That would be lovely,” said Ruth. They 
stood a few moments by the gate which opened 
into the field discussing the plan, and then sepa- 
rated, part of them going by the broad road and 
the others following the narrow path through 
the field. 

Nannie appreciated the thoughtful kindness 
of her friends and accepted their loving offer of 
assistance ; and so one afternoon and evening of 
every week were spent in the little cottage and a 
great deal of sewing was accomplished and much 
cheerful conversation carried on. The hours 


250 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


were bright, fancy wove happy dreams, and they 
pushed into the dim future all thought of sepa- 
ration : they would enjoy the present, and they 
drew very near to each other in love and sym- 
pathy. 

One afternoon, just before the holidays, Sa- 
rah said, “ I must work fast, for I do not expect 
to meet with you again for some time.” 

They all looked at her inquiringly, waiting 
for an explanation. 

“ Mrs. Hunnewell has sent for me to spend 
the holidays with her and make a long visit.” 

“Shall you see his royal highness?” inquired 
Merry, sorry the next moment that she had al- 
luded to him. 

“ What an appropriate sobriquet ! Mr. Cleave- 
land is royal. I do believe the blood of kings 
flows in his veins.” Bessie was very proud of 
her acquaintance with Paul Cleaveland. 

“ Shall you .see him, Sarah ? and where is he ? 
At home ?” Edith was very apt to ask several 
questions at once. 

“ I hope to,” replied Sarah, with a little toss of 
her head and a total ignoring of the last question. 

Nannie glanced anxiously at Ruth. If Sa- 
rah’s object had been to annoy her, she failed. 
Ruth could not hear that name without a little 
heightened color, but she had such confidence in 
its owner that she felt only pity for Sarah. 


NEWS. 


251 


When they parted that evening Ruth kissed 
Sarah, sent her love to Mrs. Hunnewell and her 
daughter, and hoped the visit would be, as she 
did not doubt it would, very pleasant. And 
Sarah was touched with the heartiness of the 
words which she could not help feeling were 
genuine. 

The day before Christmas brought to Ruth a 
yearning longing. She had not heard from 
Paul since he bade her good-by, excepting a few 
words in one of Virginia’s letters. They were 
characteristic of the writer : “ What have you 
done to Paul during his sojourn among you? 
He came home crosserthan a bear, and now he 
has gone off, nobody knows where, and would 
not take me— and I miss him awfully.” 

Ruth smiled, a little sadly, as she recalled 
these words. Virginia was not the only one 
who missed him. It seemed to her that a mes- 
sage directly from him would make the day 
complete : no, there was one other person from 
whom she wished to hear. Her last letter to 
Richard still remained unanswered, and while 
she was not surprised she had earnestly hoped 
that she could retain this friendship, the first 
she could remember. 

She stood by the window a few moments. 
The landscape was unlike that of last year. 
Then everything was beautifully clothed in 


2^2 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


white ; now the trees were brown, and seemed 
to shiver in the cold wind. The sunlight was 
the only cheerful thing she saw ; she would re- 
joice in that, and not carry uncomfortable feel- 
ings down stairs, and she resolved to spend that 
day and the following in trying to make others 
happy— that was really what the Christmas-time 
was for — and it was a very contented face which 
appeared at the breakfast table. 

Ruth enjoyed the pleasure of the others at 
the Christmas-tree in the evening, and was 
grateful for the many tokens of loving remem- 
brance which she received. Standing by the 
table in her room after her return from the 
church she thought the day had brought to her 
much happiness, and the abundance of gifts be- 
fore her reminded her that she had many kind 
friends. 

She was specially pleased with those from 
Nannie and Merry. The former was a small 
portrait of the giver, perfect in likeness and 
coloring. “ How handsome she is,” she thought, 
looking at it lovingly. “ I am so glad that she 
met Ralph Alleyn. How much good they will 
do in the world !” 

Merry’s gift was Charles Wesley’s beautiful 
hymn, “ Jesus, Lover of my soul,” lettered and 
illustrated by herself, very dainty and fine. 

“She spent hours over it,” was Ruth’s un- 


NEWS. 


253 


spoken comment. “ I am glad it is a favorite 
hymn of hers as well as mine.” She did not 
sing the words but once more for months. 

Laying the little book carefully on the table 
her eye caught two unopened packages. Taking 
up the first she saw that it was accompanied by 
a letter. “ From Richard !” she exclaimed, push- 
ing an easy chair under the gaslight. 

The epistle was more like those written the 
first year he was in college than any she had re- 
ceived since then, and yet she detected the deep 
tone of restraint and sadness which ran through 
it all. But she saw that he had accepted her 
answer as conclusive, and was striving to bring 
himself to regard her with the friendly feeling 
of yore. 

He wrote of his travels and of his studies, 
and begged of her to accept the accompanying 
book of engravings from the friend of her child- 
hood. 

The other package was accompanied by no 
message, not even a card, but she recognized 
Paul Cleaveland’s writing. The post-mark was 
foreign, but so nearly obliterated that she could 
not make it out. 

She held the package in her hands for some 
moments, and then slowly and carefully removed 
the covers, and found upon a bed of cotton a pic- 
ture of Beatrice Cenci, made of the finest mosaic. 


254 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


The face was touching in its sweet, sad beauty, 
and she knew that it had been thoughtfully se- 
lected. The frame and the workmanship were 
exquisite, but the expression of the face fasci- 
nated her. She held it a long time, then re- 
placed it in the box, covering it with the silver 
paper, and laid it in her bureau drawer. No one 
must see it at present. 

After all, the Christmas-time had brought 
joyous gladness, and her heart was full of grati- 
tude to the great Giver of every good and per- 
fect gift. 




MERRY. 


255 


CHAPTER XIX. 

MERRY. 

“ I WONDER where Merry is!” It was a cold, 
windy afternoon in January. The girls, with 
the exception of Sarah and Merry, were busily 
sewing, comfortably housed in Nannie’s cosey 
room. Ethel had been looking out of the win- 
dow from time to time and her thoughts culmi- 
nated in the above question. 

“ I saw her this morning, and she expected 
to be here,” replied Ruth. 

“ I fear it is not wise for her to come out on 
such disagreeable, days. I do not think she 
looks well.” Mary spoke slowly, as though re- 
luctant to give voice to the feehngs which filled 
her heart. 

“Oh, she always had a regular baby com- 
plexion, clear pink and white.” Bessie was 
determined not to admit any fear, if she felt it. 

“ It has been more white than pink lately,” 
said Edith. 

It was the first time the subject, which had 
vaguely filled the minds of all, had been given 
expression. They, had noticed for some weeks 
that this dear little friend had not been quite 


256 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


like herself. As Ruth had thought, “ she seemed 
to be slipping away from them.” Not that 
Merry ever complained : she was just as cheer- 
ful and happy as ever, but she was, if possible, 
more thoughtful for the comfort of others, more 
loving ; and they were all very tender with her, 
expressing their affection in many little ways. 
The easiest chair by the sunniest window was 
always reserved for her, and the daintiest sew- 
ing found its way to her hands. 

This “double quartette,” as she had named 
them, were all fond of each other, with the 
affection of school days ripening into more ma- 
ture love ; but, though unspoken, each held a 
different place in the esteem of the others, and 
Nannie, Ruth and Merry were very dear to 
each other. 

“ Here she comes ! How small she looks, 
battling with the wind,” exclaimed Edith. 

Naniiie ran down stairs and out to the gate, 
and putting her arms around the slight figure 
and helping her into the entry removed her 
wraps. ' She nodded to the girls as she entered 
the room, saying, “Wait until I get my breath,” 
and settled back in the great chair with a sigh 
of relief. They all noticed how thin her hands 
were as they lay in her lap, but the walk in the 
wind had tinged her cheeks with pink and they 
thought they must be mistaken in the idea that 


MERRY. 


257 


anything serious was the matter with her. She 
sat quietly a long time, and then rousing, said, 
Give me some work. Queen Nan. How lazy 
I am !” 

Nannie reluctantly complied, not daring to 
suggest that she rest longer. 

“Why don’t you take something for your — 
laziness?’’ said Edith. 

“ Do n’t I ? More than two months ago I 
went over to see Ruth, and, as usual, she was 
lost somewhere in that great house, and before 
I could find her her father came out of the 
library and inveigled me into telling him just 
how lazy I was, and he gave me something to 
cure it — and now just see how fast I can sew,” 
and she laughed lightly. 

“ How good Dr. Livermore is !” said Mary. 

“ That is more than I can say for his medi- 
cine,” retorted Merry, making a wry face. 

She was in such good spirits that soon the 
others were laughing gaily at her sallies, chid- 
ing themselves for being so foolish as to imagine 
anything was the matter with her ; but Nannie 
would not allow her to go home that night. 
She wanted company, she said, and Ruth could 
call and tell her mother. 

Ruth’s first thought the next morning was of 
Merry, and the vague, uneasy feeling returned. 
She was very quiet at the breakfast-table. Her 

PathB an4 By-Paths. I 7 


258 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

mother watched her a while and then asked if 
anything was troubling her. 

“ Nothing is wrong with me,” she replied, 
“ but, papa, is anything the matter with 
Merry ?” 

Her father looked at her questioningly. 
“Why?” he inquired, asking instead of an- 
swering. 

“ She said you had given her something to 
cure her laziness.” 

“ If he has a medicine for that complaint he 
had better disburse it freely. I can send him 
any number of patients who need it,” interpo- 
lated Aunt Ellen. 

Ruth paid no heed to her. “ Papa,” she con- 
tinued, “ it does not seem like you to prescribe 
for any one without being asked to do so.” 

“ How do you know that I did ?” 

“ Merry told me so yesterday.” 

“Well, I thought her mother had not no- 
ticed, and it would not be kind to see a neigh- 
bor’s child growing up with a habit of inert- 
ness.” 

But Ruth would not be put off. “ Have you 
prescribed for her more than once ?” 

“ Made one or two social calls. Mr. May and 
I are great friends.” 

“You said her mother had not noticed. Does 
she know now ?” 


MERRY. 


259 


“Of course. “ 

“ Papa,” said Ruth, laying down her fork, 
“will you tell me if there is anything serious 
the matter with Merry?” 

Her father looked at her, and seeing that it 
would not do to evade any longer said very 
gently, “ I am afraid there will be.” 

“ But why do not her folks know it ?” 

“ They do, that is, in a measure. Her parents 
have both spoken to me, but. it has come on so 
gradually that none but an experienced eye 
would detect how ill she really is ; but it is just 
as well. I have watched her closely, and noth- 
ing more could have been done. They have 
been saved all those weeks of intense anxiety, 
but they must realize it soon. I shall call and 
tell them on no account to allow her to go out in 
such weather.” 

Ruth could eat no more breakfast. 

As the doctor was going by, Mrs. May called 
him in. She was thoroughly alarmed. “ Merry 
does not seem well, and yet,” she added, “ there 
is nothing the matter, only she becomes tired 
so easily.” Merry herself insisted that she was 
all right, and Mrs. May knew that the doctor 
had been prescribing and doing all he could, but 
she was very anxious. 

Merry went out no more that winter. She 
missed the sewing-bee, but one or more of the 


26 o 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


girls went to see her every day and read to her 
from the latest books and magazines, and she 
seemed just the same as of yore. But when 
March came in with its searching winds she 
grew rapidly worse, and it tired her to listen to 
the reading ; and so her friends took fragrant 
flowers and luscious fruit to her. 

One day the doctor found her with a wistful 
look in her eyes, which changed to one of ear- 
nest inquiry as she asked in a voice she strove 
in vain to keep from trembling, “ Doctor, shall I 
ever be any better ?” 

This was one of the hard questions which 
this Christian physician often found difficult to 
answer. He sat down beside her, taking her 
little thin hand in his. “ Has your life been a 
happy one, my little friend ?” he asked. 

“ Yes ; oh, yes she replied. 

“ What has made it so ?” 

“ Everything : the best of parents, a dear lit- 
tle brother and sister, and kind friends, a pleas- 
ant home — everything I could wish.” 

The doctor waited. 

“ And a loving Saviour,” she added, her eyes 
filling with tears. “ He has given me all these 
and his love besides.” 

“ Are you tired of his love ?” 

“Oh, no; it is everything to me. It has 
helped me so much when I have felt weary.” 


MERRY. 


261 


“You have found his grace sufficient?” 

“ Always.” 

“ Can’t you trust it longer ? Can you not put 
yourself entirely in his hands? Does heaven 
look gloomy to you?” 

The tears rolled down her cheeks. “ I am so 
young!” she faltered. 

The doctor’s heart went out to her in tender 
sympathy and, kneeling, he asked that the ever- 
present help might be hers ; that she might rest 
peacefully in the love stronger than the love of 
friends, more tender even than the love of a 
mother, and then quietly left her alone with her 
Saviour to fight the great battle. 

Poor little Merry ! It was hard to think of 
leaving all she prized ; and the long hours were 
full of unrest, until, like the wearied child that 
she was, she rested fully in Him who has prom- 
ised to put underneath us the everlasting arms — 
then she felt that his way was best, and her heart 
was filled with the peace that passeth under- 
standing. 

The doctor found her weary and worn in 
body when he called the next day, but she 
greeted him with a happy smile, thanking him 
for his prayer. 

“ It did me more good than the medicine. 
I am not afraid any more,” she said ; “and now 
I wish to see Bessie. It won’t hurt me,” she 


262 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

added, seeing the doctor look doubtful. “ I 
must work while I can.” 

Ruth watched her father from day to day as 
he came from Mr. May’s. Seeing her wistful 
look one evening, he drew her to his side and 
said, “ It is all right with Merry.” 

She looked up quickly. He shook his head, 
reading her meaning. She is happy. Home 
is near.” 

She hid her face on her father’s shoulder 
and yielded to the grief which filled her heart. 
He soothed her as best he could, but the sum- 
mons to supper was unheeded ; she could not 
eat, so he took his place without her. 

“ Whom has Mrs. May with her ?” inquired 
Aunt Ellen. 

“ No one.” 

“ Then I think I am needed there more than 
here.” 

Mrs. May was only too glad to have her 
come, and Merry was delighted. 

How much you are like your brother,” she 
said, as Aunt Ellen deftly arranged the pillows 
and lifted the slight form to a more comfortable 
position. Nothing could have drawn Aunt 
Ellen away after that. 

Ruth carried Merry’s message to Bessie, 
warning her to be very quiet, as her father 
said Merry must not be excited in the least. 


MERRY. 


263 


It needed the memory of these words to keep 
Bessie from exclaiming as she stepped inside 
the door, which Aunt Ellen softly opened and 
then went into the hall, leaving them alone. 
Bessie had not seen her friend for several days, 
and was greatly shocked at the change in her. 
Not that Merry looked so very ill, only so frail, 
so beautiful. She was half reclining among the 
pillows, her curls brushed away from her white 
forehead and falling like a golden cloud around 
her. Bessie could see the blue veins through 
the delicate skin ; a faint color tinged her cheeks 
and her eyes were bright. She smiled and 
held out her hand, which Bessie took in both of 
hers, bending over and kissing her. 

“lam so glad to see you!” she exclaimed. 
I shall not be here long and I have something 
to say to you. Bessie, dear Bessie, we have 
been very happy together all our lives, and now 
I am going home, and I cannot be perfectly 
happy unless I know you will come too, by- 
and-by. Six of us are trying to walk in the 
right path. Oh, it cannot be that you and 
Sarah will deliberately choose the way whose 
end is death.’’ She paused a moment : Bessie 
was bravely trying to obey the doctor’s injunc- 
tion. “ Bessie,” and the sweet voice was very 
pleading, “ won’t you be a Christian ?” 

“Merry,” she replied, steadying her voice 


264 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


with a great effort, “ there was a time, when 
you and Ethel and Mary were converted, that I 
really longed to be with you. Do you remember 
the evening of Mrs. Sumner’s musicale f Some 
of you chose the better way that night. I 
deliberately refused to attend the place of 
prayer and went to Mrs. Sumner’s. I think 
that was the turning point with me ; since then 
I have had no desire to be a Christian.” 

Tears gathered in the blue eyes and a sob 
was in Merry’s voice as, clasping Bessie’s hand 
more closely, she said, “ Are n’t you ever going 
to try again ?” 

“Why, yes — no — I do not know,” replied 
Bessie, startled and bewildered. 

Merry knew her friend, knew her sturdy 
honesty. She did not remind her that the time 
must come.when she would be called to bid her 
friends good-by and that the summons might 
come soon, while youug, even as it had to her; 
instead she said, “ Do n’t you wish to be useful 
in the world? Don’t you wish it to be a little 
better because you have lived in it ?” 

“Y-e-s,” slowly, “but I do not feel the least 
desire to become a Christian. I feel as though 
I had rejected the offer of salvation and it would 
not be renewed — as though I were far off.” 

“ Do you believe the promises are sure ? that 
what Christ says is true 


MERRY. 


265 

Bessie’s answer was not ready. Did she be- 
lieve ’> “ Why, of course ! I know that God’s 

words are true.” 

“ Do you believe that when you ask him to 
forgive you he does ?” 

“No,” said Bessie, honestly. 

Merry was becoming weary and felt that she 
had made no progress. If she could only coax 
her to promise. 

“Bessie,” she urged, “you are not farther 
off than the ‘ uttermost,’ and he says he is 
‘able to save unto the uttermost them that 
come unto God by him.’ Will you promise me 
to seek, to try?” 

Bessie looked at. the sweet, pure face before 
her : she recalled the unselfish, loving life, now 
so soon to end on this earth ; she thought of 
their friendship, and she knew what a grief it 
would be to her if she refused, and she knew 
if she promised she should keep her word. 
Did she never mean to try again ? if so, Why not 
now ? She certainly could do this much. 

“ Dear Merry,” she said, “ I will make the 
attempt.” 

And now a tender, solemn look came into 
the sweet, fair face, a look which Bessie never 
forgot and which went straight to her heart, as 
Merry said, “ Will you promise me you will seek 
until you find ?” 


266 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


And now Bessie was thorouglily startled. 
She saw that Merry was becoming exhausted, 
and she dared not refuse. Was she really un- 
willing to comply ? Suppose she sought all her 
life, was it not worth the effort ? There came 
to her mind words that she had read or heard, 
“ And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye 
shall search for me with all your heart.” She 
had no time to debate the question further, and 
stooping she took the slight form in her arms, 
and kissing her again and again said, “ Merry, I 
will.” 

And Merry was satisfied. “ He never turned 
any one away,” she said, and Bessie quietly left 
the chamber, doubting if she would ever see its 
dear inmate again. She was awed and almost 
frightened at the thought of her promise, but 
she commenced at once. 

Two or three days went by and she made no 
progress. Her word to Merry had been her first 
incentive, but now she felt that on her own ac- 
count she could not give up ; but what should, 
what could she do ? Full of doubt and perplex- 
ity she went to her pastor. Mr. Stearns gave 
her a hearty welcome ; and she went back to the 
time when she attended the meetings and told 
him all — her deliberate turning away, and her 
subsequent promise to Merry. He saw the 
trouble at once. 


MERRY. 


267 


What are you seeking?” he inquired. 

“ Why, to be a Christian surprise was in 
her voice. 

What is a Christian ?” 

“ A follower of Christ,” after a moment’s 
thought. 

“ Are you following him ?” 

“ No ; I am trying to get into the right way 
so that I can.” 

“ Do you believe his promises, that if you 
ask you shall receive, if you seek you shall 
find ?” 

'‘No,” replied Bessie, frightened, yet honest. 
“ I have tried and tried, and I do not feel a bit 
differently. I have no joy or peace.” 

“ To whom does the Saviour promise joy and 
peace ?” 

“ To those who seek him.” 

Her pastor shook his head. “ No, to those 
who trust him,” he said. “ Bessie, he gave you 
feeling once, and you refused it. You may not 
have it again ; you must come right out and 
trust the naked promise. You must believe 
that when you ask him to accept you he does 
so, because he says that he will.” 

Bessie was silent, with a new thought strug- 
gling into her mind. 

“ When you were a little girl and had dis- 
obeyed your mother, and asked her forgiveness. 


268 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


did you feel any differently when she assured 
you that she complied with your request?” 

“Yes, I felt a great deal happier.” 

Mr. Stearns smiled, the answer was so char- 
acteristic of the one who gave it. “Were you 
happy because she forgave you, or because she 
said she did ?” 

“ She was a strictly truthful woman,” replied 
Bessie, smiling in turn ; “ but I see your mean- 
ing.” 

After a brief prayer from Mr. Stearns Bessie 
went directly home and to her own room, and 
kneeling again earnestly asked to be forgiven 
and accepted, consecrating herself as best she 
could. She rose, calm, but with no different 
feeling, only the determination to believe. “ I 
have asked, and he says I shall receive, there- 
fore I have,” she said, over and over again ; and 
there she rested until gradually the light came, 
and the following Sabbath she went to Mr. 
May’s, reaching the gate just as the doctor was 
coming out, and in answer to her query if she 
could see Merry he shook his head. 

“ Wont you tell her, then, that I have sought 
and found ?” 

And Merry’s face lighted with joy too deep 
for utterance as the doctor gave her the mes- 
sage. “lam glad ! oh, so glad !” and then she 
added, “ When is Sarah coming home ?” 


MERRY. 


269 


“ They expect her to-morrow.” 

Tell her to come and see me at once ; wont 
you?” 

The doctor, fearing the refusal would harm 
hermore than the granting of the request, drove 
over to Mr. Carter’s the next evening. Sarah 
had returned, but she seemed very reluctant to 
comply with Merry’s request. 

“I should like to take you over at once,” said 
the doctor. “ She will not sleep to-night unless 
she sees you.” 

“She does not look very ill,” urged Mary, 
who knew her sister’s great aversion for anything 
which suggested death. She is very white and 
thin, but her face is just as sweet as ever.” 

“ Surely, you would not refuse the last re- 
quest she may ever make of you.” There was a 
hint of reproach in the doctor’s voice. 

“ I am ashamed of you,” said her mother. 
“ Dear little Merry ! I should think you would 
wish to see her so much you could not wait. I 
wish she had sent for me.” 

Thus entreated, Sarah yielded and went with 
the doctor. Cautioning her not to excite Merry 
in any way, he left her, and she slowly ascended 
the stairs and knocked lightly at the door which 
she had so often pushed open to run gaily in 
with careless words and merry jest. Aunt Ellen 
opened it and motioned her to enter. 


2/0 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


She Stood still a moment, just inside the 
door. The room was dim, the gas being turned 
low and shaded. She could not see Merry’s face 
distinctly: she stepped nervously across the 
room to the bedside. 

“ I am so glad you have come,” and the little 
white hand was extended in joyous welcome. 

I cannot talk much. I shall not be here long. 
Should you be afraid if you were in my place?” 

She approached this friend with entirely dif- 
ferent words from those she had used for Bessie. 

Sarah shuddered. “ Oh, Merry,” she replied, 
“ I hope you will be here a long, long time.” 

Merry shook her head and repeated her 
question. “ Should you be afraid?” 

“ Yes ; oh, yes.” And Sarah’s face expressed 
the dread which filled her heart. 

“ I am not,” continued Merry ; “ and I will tell 
you why. It is because my Saviour has prom- 
ised that he will never leave nor forsake me. 
He is present with me every moment. Sarah, 
wont you love and trust him ?” 

Sarah had no reply ready, and Merry con- 
tinued, “You may be called any moment to lie 
here as I do.” 

“ No, oh, no ! It cannot be possible,” replied 
Sarah, shrinking back ; “ just see how well - and 
strong I am and she certainly looked the pic- 
ture of health. “ And, then, I am so young.” 


MERRY. 


271 

“ I was strong and well a few weeks ago, and 
I am younger than you,” plead the sweet voice. 

Unanswerable argument. “ I intend to be a 
Christian some time, of course. Everyone does.” 

“ When ?” 

Sarah looked at her, and the simple word re- 
peated itself over and over in her mind until it 
seemed the most potent word ever uttered. 

“ Oh, Sarah, do not delay ! ‘ Now is the ac- 

cepted time ; now is the day of salvation.’ Wont 
you promise me ? It is my last request.” 

Sarah was silent a long time. She had held 
herself quiet by the strength of her strong will, 
remembering the doctor’s words of caution. 

‘‘ Merry,” she said, at last, “ I will think of it, 
and I promise you that I will try ; if not now, 
sometime,” and, unsatisfactory as the words 
were. Merry could do no more. 

Daily Ruth asked her father about Merry, 
sometimes verbally, often by a look, and the re- 
ply was usually the same, “ Failing slowly.” 

One evening she omitted the customary ques- 
tion. Something in her father’s face hushed the 
words, and she was not surprised, when he pushed 
his chair back from the supper-table, to hear him 
say, “ I am going over to Mr. May’s ; do not sit 
up for me.” 

She knew that the end was very near ; that 
because Merry was her friend her father would 


2/2 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


stay with her and make the way as easy as possi- 
ble. She wrapped a white, fleecy shawl around 
her and went out on the piazza. It was the first 
week in April, and spring- was trying to make its 
presence felt. The day had been one of alter- 
nate clouds and sunshine. A recent shower had 
threaded the branches with crystal drops, but 
now the air was clear and the sky cloudless. She 
paced slowly back and forth until the minutes 
lengthened into an hour, and then her mother 
sought her. 

How grateful she felt for the kind watchful- 
ness which would not permit her to remain long- 
er alone in the chill air. She followed her mo- 
ther into the library, and pushing a low seat to 
her side laid her head in her lap as she had 
been wont to do when a child. 

The clock struck ten, eleven, twelve, and 
shortly after she heard her father’s step. He 
came into the room, and taking her in his arms 
looked tenderly down into the pale face. 

“ It is all well,” he said. “ Our little friend 
is at rest. Her last words were, ‘Rest, joy, 
peace i” 

Ruth went up stairs, her heart full of grief 
for this dear friend, whom she should see no 
more in this world, and of strange awe at the 
great mystery which had happened to her. 

The next day the girls, with the exception of 


MERRY. 


273 


Sarah, whom it made “ so nervous,” went to Mrs. 
May’s and offered to do all that was needed to 
be done. Only loving hands must touch her 
now. Those friends who ministered to her 
when well must perform the last sad offices. So 
they robed her in one of her white dresses, 
curled her beautiful hair, fastened the blue sash, 
and laid her tenderly in the white cloth-covered 
casket. A day or two later they gathered in the 
darkened room and listened to the sweetly sol- 
emn words of Scripture, and wept while her pas- 
tor and theirs spoke of the young life seemingly 
ended so untimely. But it was not ended, only 
just begun, and it would go on and on. It had 
been a pure life, and all its memory was like the 
fragrance of the flowers which loving friends 
had brought as a tribute to her many Christian 
graces. 

And then he waited while these friends 
strove for calmness to comply with the last re- 
quest which Merry had made of them. And 
soon, with voices which trembled, they sang the 
opening of her favorite hymn, “ Jesus, Lover of 
my soul but one voice after another ceased 
until the last verse was sung by Ruth and Nan- 
nie alone, the two who loved her best. Then 
they bowed their heads while Mr. Stearns offered 
thanks that they had been permitted to have this 
dear friend with them so long, and commended 

Paths and By-Patlis. 


274 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


them all to the kind Heavenly Father who makes 
no mistakes. And then they gathered round 
the white casket and looked into the sweet face, 
and could not realize that the lips which smiled 
so sweetly were hushed for ever. 

They wept, but tears could not be bitter 
above that dear face, with the memory of her 
pure life. 

They followed her to the little cemetery, and 
as they stood for the last time beside the dear 
form Mr. Stearns in quiet voice said, “ Blessed 
are the dead which die in the Lord from hence- 
forth : Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest 
from their labors, and their works do follow 
them. For so he giveth his beloved sleep.” 

The girls turned away as they lowered the 
casket into its last resting place, excepting Ruth 
and Nannie, and they, standing there, dropped 
the floral offerings upon the casket until it was 
covered. They could do no more, and hand in 
hand they followed the others. 

A few days later a simple stone of the purest 
white marble stood at the head of the new-made 
grave, placed there by the girls. The inscrip- 
tion was brief. On one side, “ Marie May, sev- 
enteen years and seven months. ‘ Rest — joy — 
peace.’ ” And on the other, “ Merry — we all 
loved her.” 


SARAH'S EXPERIENCE. 


275 


CHAPTER XX. 

SARAH’S EXPERIENCE. 

Sarah left the cemetery with a heart full 
of grief, fear, and impatience. She had really 
loved this bright little friend and truly mourned 
her loss. She had read on many a marble slab 
the ages of the quiet sleepers beneath, and 
knew that untold numbers recorded even less 
than seventeen years, but it had never been im- 
pressed upon her that it was a real fact that 
death did not spare the young. 

She was nearly three years older than Merry, 
but that fact was no assurance that three years 
more of life would be given her. She had just 
returned from Philadelphia, where she had spent 
her time with the gay and had passed a merry 
season. It was too bad to have it end so. But 
whose fault was it ? She pondered this question 
some time. It certainly could not be helped. 
The same dread messenger might interrupt 
them any time. She went to her room, shut and 
locked the door. 

She was expecting Virginia soon, to spend 
a few weeks with her. She had thought to en- 
joy her coming very much and anticipated the 
pleasure of introducing her to her friends ; but 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


276 

now it did not seem as though anything would 
ever be pleasant again. Then there was her 
promise to Merry. To be sure, it was indefinite, 
but it troubled her. What did Merry mean, and 
why was she not afraid to die ? 

Gradually her last conversation with Merry 
superseded other thoughts, and a great fear 
took possession of her as she realized that the 
pleading voice was hushed for ever, that she had 
that afternoon looked for the last time into the 
smiling face now so still and white. She felt 
that she could not die. And yet — she paused a 
long time over those two words. 

Was it Merry’s special prerogative to leave 
this world without a fear : with the evidence of 
a sure entrance into the heavenly city ? What 
was it to be a Christian? How were people 
different from what they were before? Mary 
was more kind and obliging. Well, she could 
be that, she could commence at once. She 
would not speak a cross word to any one ; her 
voice should be sweet and even, like her sister’s. 
Surely that would not be difficult. 

Then her thoughts reverted to her mother. 
She had not been in the habit of attending 
church regularly before her conversion, but now 
she went not only on the Sabbath, but to the 
weekly prayer-meeting ; and she read her Bible 
daily and was always ready to converse about 


Sarah’s experience. 


577 


it. She was positive that she could compass the 
first two duties; to be sure, she thought the 
sermons dull, but she could find enough to 
amuse her — and the Bible was uninteresting, but 
she would probably like it better as she became 
conversant with its contents ; of course she could 
not talk about it until then. 

She knew that many times recently her 
mother had begged that the business which 
brought them such large revenues might be 
given up, but she had been entirely unsuccess- 
ful ; and failing in this she disbursed the money 
freely, thus doing the little she could to com- 
pensate for the great evil. Many a poor home 
was made comfortable and its inmates fed and 
clothed ; and many a temperance lecturer was 
induced by her to come to Linden and paid 
with money gained in the traffic he denounced. 

Sarah could easily follow her mother’s ex- 
ample in this; indeed, was there not a verse 
in the Bible something like this: “Pure reli- 
gion and undefiled before God and the Father 
is this: to visit the fatherless and widows in 
their affliction ” ? She had found her answer. 
That was what it meant to be a Christian. Her 
heart was very light; how easy it was! She 
had entirely forgotten the last injunction con- 
tained in that same verse — “ And to keep him- 
self unspotted from the world.” 


278 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

Then a thought of Ruth came to her, she 
could hardly tell why, and she seemed to hear 
the words of song which had floated through 
the room below nearly two years before, and a 
vague, uneasy feeling forced itself upon her 
that Ruth’s definition of a Christian would be 
somewhat different from her own, and for the 
first time she realized that some self - denial 
might be called for in carrying out her new 
life. 

Ruth did not attend the theatre, play cards 
nor dance. Sarah’s face lengthened. She felt 
that she could not give these things up. Well, 
why should she ? They did not conflict with her 
attending church, reading the Bible, or being 
benevolent. She was becoming puzzled once 
more, and then the way cleared again. 

Edith Searles played cards and attended the 
theatre, and she was a church- member. And 
there was Richard Stearns, a prospective minis- 
ter — she ignored the fact that he had changed 
his plans — if he thought it right to do these 
things surely it could not be wrong for her. 
Her heart grew light again. She would be a 
Christian, and still enjoy the world. How nice 
it was! why should she not be happy? How 
foolish Ruth and the other girls were ! she 
really pitied them. 

She went down stairs humming a snatch of 


■SARAH’S EXPERIENCE. 279 

gay song, and surprised her parents and sister, 
in the days that followed, by being kind and 
pleasant, even when her wishes were crossed 
yielding without controversy. Her mother 
watched her with curiosity and anxiety, hoping, 
yet doubtful. 

Bessie White, with a heart full of love and 
new-found joy, was praying for courage to take 
up a heavy cross. She felt that she was some- 
how responsible that Sarah was not a Christian. 
If only she had gone to meeting that evening, 
instead of to Mrs. Sumner’s, possibly Sarah would 
have accompanied her, and everything might 
have been different. At any rate, she was more 
intimate with Sarah than the other girls were 
and might be able to influence her where they 
could not, and she really longed for her friend 
to share the peace which gave to life a new 
and brighter aspect ; but she shrank from speak- 
ing to her, greatly to her surprise— shrank, yet 
knew she must do it. One day it stormed, and 
the next she had company, and another she was 
too busy to go anywhere, but the excuses brought 
no comfort and finally failed altogether, and so, 
one bright afternoon late in April, she walked 
slowly over to Mr. Carter’s. 

Sarah made her very welcome, and Bessie 
told her all her experience, speaking very ten- 
derly of Merry, regretting that she had not 


280 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

started in the right way sooner, and urging 
Sarah to join her. 

Sarah heard her quietly, and then with a 
happy face said, “ How nice \ I am glad for you, 
and you may congratulate me. I have not only 
started, but feel that I have walked quite a dis- 
tance in the right way.” 

And Bessie, surprised and glad, kissed her, 
exclaiming, “ How glad I am ! Now we can be 
baptized together.” 

Sarah started. She had not once thought of 
that, but of course it was the thing to do. What 
would Virginia say ? She would try and have it 
over before she came, and astonish her by the 
sweetness of disposition she would mingle with 
her gayety. 

As soon as Bessie had gone she donned her 
hat and shawl and went to the parsonage. Mr. 
Stearns was surprised when she made known 
her errand. He quietly heard all she had to say, 
then began to question her and was convinced 
that she had not entered the path through the 
wicket-gate, but, like Formalist and Hypocrisy 
in Bunyan’s “ Pilgrim,” had taken a shorter 
way, over the wall, a long way from that narrow 
opening. In vain he reasoned with and ques- 
tioned her, asking her if her love for her Sa- 
viour was as real as for any one. 

No, she replied, but she had only just started ; 


Sarah's experience. 281 

of course he could not expect her to be able to 
give the experience of older Christians. 

Had she felt her sinfulness, her need of for- 
giveness ? 

No ! she always thought she was as good as 
the average ; and now — well, she really felt that 
she had improved a great deal. 

Mr. Stearns was in despair, and read to her 
the parable of the Pharisee and Publican. If 
she saw the parallelism she would not accept it, 
but spoke of her desire for baptism, and could 
hardly restrain her indignation when Mr. Stearns 
advised her to wait awhile. 

She bade him a cool good afternoon and 
walked home with hurried steps, rushing into 
the reception-room, where her father, mother 
and sister were sitting, and throwing her hat 
angrily on the floor declared that it was “ high 
time that Mr. Stearns was deposed ; he had better 
come down from his high position and learn 
how to treat people decently and in reply to 
her mother’s inquiry poured forth the story of 
her afternoon’s experience. 

“ Do you mean to tell me that Mr. Stearns is ♦ 
going to take Bessie White into his church and 
bar you out?” asked her father. 

“Yes,” replied Sarah, angrily, “ that is just 
it.” 

“ Well, he is an ignoramus, and I ’ll know the 


282 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


reason,” to which somewhat ambiguous remark 
Mrs. Carter paid no attention, knowing that he 
always avoided Mr. Stearns. Turning sadly to 
Sarah, she said, “ I do not see how he could do 
otherwise.” 

“Yes, you had better turn against me too,” 
replied Sarah, bitterly. 

“ I do not turn against you, daughter, but it 
would be a dreadful thing for you to make a mis- 
take in this matter, to be lulled to sleep by a false 
security ; and I am thoroughly convinced by the 
spirit you are showing now that the underlying 
principle of religion is entirely lacking with 
you. You do not see that ‘ Love is the fulfilling 
of the law.’ ” 

“ I suppose you think you are taking the right 
way to make me love j/ou,'' replied this irate 
daughter. 

Mrs. Carter paused, hopeless, as her pastor 
had been, of making Sarah, in her present state 
of mind, understand. 

“ I would like to have Mr Steams and every 
one of them know that I am as good as they 
are,” broke forth Sarah again, after a short 
silence. 

“ It is not a question of goodness,” replied 
her mother, “ but of love for and loyalty to your 
King. There are only two classes in the world : 
those who love the Lord and those who do not.” 


SARAH *S EXPERIENCE. 283 

“ Do you mean to say that you and Mary 
are children of God, and Sarah and I children 
of the devil?” inquired Mr. Carter, in a loud 
tone. 

“ No,” and there were tears in her eyes and 
a tremble in her voice, “ no, I do not mean to 
say anything about it ; but One higher than I 
has said, ‘ The children of the flesh, these are 
not the children of God.’ ” 

Mr. Carter sneered and Sarah flounced out 
of the room. And when, a little later, Mary of- 
fered words of sympathy, she bade her hold her 
tongue and never say any more on the subject. 
She was happy enough before and she guessed 
she could have a good time for all any one. 

Virginia came in a few days, and to all ap- 
pearance Sarah had her good time, but below 
the gaiety was a feeling of disappointment. 
The question she thought settled for ever was 
still unsolved. 

Bessie wondered when Sarah told her that 
she was not going to join the church at present, 
but remained silent. 

Ruth saw a great deal of Virginia in the 
coming days and longed for some information 
in regard to Paul, but his name was seldom 
mentioned, and then in such a way as to impart 
no real information. 

One day Ruth was admiring one of Virginia’s 


284 PATHS AND BY-PATHg. 

dresses. It was of fine texture and extremely 
delicate shade, dainty in every way. Virginia 
was pleased. That is an imported dress,” she 
said, “ I wanted something new to wear to a 
reception last winter, something different from 
every dress I had ever seen, and my fastidious 
cousin sent me this.” She touched it caress- 
ingly as she added, “ He is very fond of delicate 
colors.” 

Sarah immediately resolved to adopt them. 

Another day Virginia spoke of her cousin 
as having a fine time attending theatres. He 
had just been to Ober-Ammergau to see the 
Passion-play. It came this year. “ Paul always 
was in luck. He didn’t like it, though.” And 
Ruth was still hoping and praying that Paul 
Cleaveland might become a Christian, and she 
tried to ask in faith, “ nothing wavering.” 


WEDDING BELLS. 


285 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

The season promised to be an early and an 
abundant one. Daisy came in from her May- 
day party with her little basket full of flowers — 
blue violets, scarlet columbine and pink arbutus. 
Ruth was glad. “ There will be plenty of flowers 
for Nannie’s wedding,” she thought. The day 
was set — the twenty-first of June, Ruth’s birth- 
day. “ Ever after to be doubly fragrant with 
sweet memories,” Nannie said. 

One warm evening early in June Nannie 
sat in the tiny hall of her little home, and her 
childhood friends filled the remaining space and 
then, as Bessie expressed it, had an overflow 
meeting on the porch. They were chatting 
merrily, but for a time Nannie lost it all as she 
leaned back in her chair, her thoughts busy with 
the past. This evening reminded her so much 
of the evening, only so few years ago, the even- 
ing which above all others she remembered 
with pleasure as the time when her destiny 
was decided, or, as she expressed it, when she 
was adopted into the King’s family, and so 
became an heir to glory. The same moon shed 
its soft light on lawn and road, showing beauti- 


286 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


ful tracery of vine and branch : the same per- 
fume of apple blossoms was wafted to her as 
when she had slowly followed the narrow path 
through the fields, her heart singing a new 
song which had repeated itself ever since, never 
losing its melody. She was roused to a sense 
of the present by hearing Sarah exclaim, ‘'We 
must decide on something. Nannie Bartlett, 
have you the least interest in the coming event ? 
One would think you were merely an invited 
guest, instead of the bride elect and the cy- 
nosure of every eye.” 

Nannie laughed good-naturedly. “ I am all 
attention,” she said, sitting upright. 

“Well,” continued Sarah, somewhat molli- 
fied, “ I have been trying for a week to find 
six colors which will harmonize for the six 
bridesmaids to wear. They must all be very 
delicate, which makes the task a difficult one. 
There is pale pink, blue, and corn color, but I 
cannot find three more which suit me.” 

“ Pity that there was not one more of us, and 
we might wear the seven colors of the rainbow.” 

It was Bessie who spoke, and a little silence 
fell upon them as they thought of the seventh 
one, whose quick perception would have helped 
them so much. Bessie regretted her thought- 
less speech as soon as it was uttered. Some of 
her remarks were apt to lack consideration. 


WEDDING BELLS. 287 

“ Why could n’t we all wear white ?” inquired 
Edith. 

“ I think it would be very nice,” said Ruth. 
“Simple white muslin.” 

“ But how common !” objected Sarah. 

“ It can be fine. India mull, if you like.” 
She carried the point. 

“Well,” continued Sarah, still somewhat 
dissatisfied, “ what shall we do about the recep- 
tion ?” 

“ Receive,” said Ethel, sententiously. 

Sarah evidently felt the burden of the oc- 
casion. “ Nannie and we will half fill the parlor. 
We must have the room over it for the presents, 
and the dining-room will be filled with tables ; 
so there will be no room for guests.” 

Nannie looked sober. “ I have thought of 
that,” she said, “ and confess I do not know how 
to overcome it ; but I think with so many good 
advisers a way will be found out of the diffi- 
culty.” 

“ I have it,” exclaimed Bessie ; “ a tent !” 

“ Bessie White ! have you taken leave of your 
senses ?” 

“ No, Sarah ; a tent on the lawn for refresh- 
ments.” 

“ It certainly would be unique,” said Edith 
a little doubtfully. 

“ Lovely,” said Ethel, clapping her hands. 


288 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“We will rope them in the pews with white rib- 
bon and tell the ushers to take out only a few 
at a time. Then we will introduce them and 
allow them just time to say, ‘ My dear Mrs. 
Alleyn,’ Nannie’s cheeks grew crimson — ‘ what 
a lovely wedding ! I wish you a great deal of 
happiness,’ and ‘ Mr. Alleyn, I congratulate you,’ 
and then we will whisk them up stairs and rush 
them round the room to see the presents, and 
rush them out the front door to the tent in time 
for another lot.’’ 

“ Why, Ethel Rhodes, you are talking awful 
slang,” commented Edith. 

“ Occasion demands it. Miss Precise ; and, 
pray, what is ‘ awful ’ ?” 

“ I think the plan is practicable,” said Ruth. 
“ We could make the tent a bower of roses, 
inside and out.” 

“ I do not see where they will come from,” 
said Mary. “We must have them for the 
church.” 

“ Some other kinds of flowers, then.” 

“ I agree with Edith that it would be unique,” 
said Ethel, “and I think something out of the 
stereotyped way would be nice.” 

“But, Nannie, what will the grandees from 
Philadelphia say?” inquired Sarah. 

“ They would open their eyes at first,” said 
Ethel, laughing, “ and then, as the beauty of the 


WEDDING BELLS. 


289 

idea grew on them, they would exclaim, ‘ How 
pretty ! When my Mary Jane is married I 
mean to have everything just so.’ ” 

“ Provided they had marriageable Mary 
Janes,” laughed Ruth. 

“And the convenience of the arrangement 
was not too apparent,” added Nannie. “ How- 
ever, I really think it would be a good idea.” 

“What would Mr. Alleyn say?” queried 
Mary. “ He is so fastidious.” 

“ Here he comes ; ask him,” said Bessie, 
rising from the step that he might pass. 

That gentleman when appealed to good- 
naturedly declared they might arrange all those 
things to suit themselves. He only stipulated 
that they should be satisfied and please Nannie. 
“Yes, one thing more,” he added: “there must 
be nothing in the way of refreshments which 
contains liquor of any kind.” 

Sarah flushed angrily. 

“ We cannot have frozen pudding then,” said 
Bessie in dismay. 

“Then we will have it hot,” returned Mr. 
Alleyn, laughing. 

Ruth, Mary and Nannie joined the laugh ; 
the others were too much startled even to smile. 

“ But that is a very popular dish,” said Ethel ; 
“don’t you think you are carrying your ideas 
too far?” and then, without waiting for a reply. 

Paths and By-Paths. IQ 


290 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

added, “ I attended a social of the Grand Street 
church this spring, and that was served with 
other refreshments.” 

Mr. Alleyn looked very grave as he said, “ I 
hope none of the church-members partook of it.” 

“They did, though,” exclaimed Sarah trium- 
phantly. 

“ I think it must have been a mistake — that 
those who had charge of the collation were not 
aware of the fact.” Mr. Alleyn was still very 
grave. 

“ I never knew before that frozen pudding 
was flavored with liquor,” said Edith. “They 
must have put in an overdose.” 

“The saddest part is that Harold Otis, who 
you all know has been trying so hard for the 
last six months to reform, was there, and the 
next day he was seen on the street intoxicated.” 

A little silence fell upon them after this 
statement by Mary, and then, in a voice full 
of repressed feeling, Ralph said, “ I sincerely 
hope the same will never occur again in any 
church circle. It must not occur on the twenty- 
first,” and he said it with the air of one who 
had not only settled the question for the twenty- 
first, but for ever. 

“How about the wedding-cake?” inquired 
Sarah. “You cannot make that without some- 
thing of the kind ; will you do without it?” 


WEDDING BELLS. 


29 


Mr. Alleyn made no reply, and Ruth said, 
“If you will leave it to me I will see that you 
have it all right. Aunt Ellen makes the very 
best, and I know the receipt.” 

She was rewarded by the rare, sweet smile 
that she so prized from Ralph Alleyn. 

The morning of the twenty -third dawned 
bright and fair. Not a cloud obscured the deep 
blue of the sky. The girls were early at the 
church and soon every available place was filled 
with roses. Baskets full depended from chande- 
lier and gas-burners; they smiled from full 
vases on table and desk, and a large bell made 
entirely of creamy white ones hung above the 
platform, marking the place where the bride 
was to stand. 

The girls were satisfied with the result of 
their labor as they surveyed it, and then closed 
the doors, hurrying to the lawn where the tent 
was awaiting them. The effect of their coming 
seemed magical, and soon the white canvas was 
transformed into a bower of beauty and bloom. 

Promptly at two o’clock the organ pealed 
forth the inspiring notes of Mendelssohn’s Wed- 
ding March, and the little party entered the 
church. Very sweet those fair young girls 
looked in their simple muslin dresses ; and Nan- 
nie, in her gown of heavy corded silk with its 
long train, seemed more queenly than ever. 


292 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


The church was filled to its utmost capacity, 
but Nannie thought only of the one who stood 
by her side, upon whose strong arm she leaned. 
Soon the solemn words which bound her to 
Ralph Alleyn for life were uttered, and Mr. 
Stearns pronounced them husband and wife. 

Nannie felt like one in a dream as she passed 
out of the church ; but Ethel’s plan worked ad- 
mirably, and in receiving the congratulations of 
friends she began to realize that her whole life 
was changed. 

Ethel’s eyes danced with merriment as, cross- 
ing the lawn, she heard a lady say, “ Did you 
ever see such a strange arrangement ?” 

“ No,” replied her companion, “ but I think it 
is lovely. I like something out of the common 
way ; and I would do the same for my daugh- 
ter when she is married only my lawn is not 
large enough.” 

“ And she was a ‘ grandee from Philadel- 
phia,’ ” added Ethel, as she repeated it to the 
girls afterwards. 

The moments flew rapidly by and Nannie 
was obliged to leave in order to be ready for the 
train. She paused a moment in the upper room. 
It was filled with gifts, and her heart was full of 
gratitude as she recognized the kind thoughtful- 
ness of her many friends. She crossed the room 
and stood before an easel upon which rested a 


WEDDING BELLS. 


293 


silver frame enclosing a picture of “ the girls.” 
They were grouped in graceful attitudes, and 
her eyes filled with happy tears as she looked 
into the dear faces which had been her compan- 
ions for so many years —tears which changed to 
drops of grief as she missed one she had loved 
so well, the one sleeping so quietly in the little 
churchyard. As she turned to leave the room 
her eye caught sight of an inscription on the 
back, silver letters on a ground of blue enamel : 
“ Queen Nan, with love and best wishes of the 
girls.” The dear friends of her girlhood would 
continue the friends of more mature years. But 
she must not linger, and in a few moments she 
went below. 

Very pretty she looked in her travelling dress 
of pearl gray. She had no time to linger for 
adieus, for which she felt truly glad. They drove 
rapidly to the station, reaching that place as the 
train came in sight. Then the girls clung to 
Nannie until her husband was forced to take her 
away, placing her on the steps just as the train 
started. 

Ruth and Mary returned to the little house. 
They went directly up stairs and folded the 
silken robe, touching it caressingly, and laid 
it, with the veil and orange blossoms, carefully 
away ; packed the costly presents and sent them 
to a place of safety ; put the rooms in order. 


294 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


closed the blinds, and went out, locking the door 
after them, and seated themselves upon the steps. 

All signs of festivity had disappeared save 
a few bright flowers which had been dropped 
on the lawn. The sun had descended below the 
western hills, leaving a path of crimson glory 
in his track. In place of music and laughter 
and the hum of happy voices, the drone of a 
belated bee as he flew homeward laden with the 
nectar of flowers, the twitter of a sleepy bird 
and the rustle of leaves gently stirring in the 
summer breeze were the only sounds heard. 

A few moments they sat there in the starry 
stillness, and then, rising as by mutual consent, 
they stood a moment, with clasped hands, and 
then Mary crossed the road to her father’s house 
and Ruth walked thoughtfully through the 
fields, wondering if the path of life was always 
to be narrow like the one she was then treading. 
As the light streamed through the windows of 
her home she thought of the Mansion being 
prepared for her, and sent up a silent petition 
that she might be made meet for it, and if the 
way led through suffering that she might pa- 
tiently follow it, walking carefully. 


AT LAST. 


295 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AT LAST. 

Ruth had no more time for retrospect or 
grief. The house was full of company, and she 
performed her part in entertaining them with 
her usual grace and cheerfulness. The summer 
days were not without their pleasures, and they 
passed quickly despite the weariness of waiting 
for the intelligence that never came ; when au- 
tumn hung out her banner of crimson and gold 
the doctor’s family were once more alone. 

Ruth heard from Richard frequently now, 
and also from Nannie, but never from Paul ; but 
her faith in him never wavered. 

Doctor Livermore sat at the breakfast-table, 
one bright October morning, ostensibly reading 
the paper, really w'-atching his elder daughter. 

“ Lonesome ?” he inquired, after a little. 

Somewhat. I miss our friends,” replied 
Ruth. 

You have been at home all summer, how 
would you like to go away a while ?” 

“That depends upon where it would be. I 
am not tired of home,” and Ruth smiled con- 
tentedly. 


296 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

“ That is all right ; but I have an idea that a 
sojourn at Pebble Springs would prove beneficial 
to you.” 

“ Why, papa ! lam well enough now.” 

“ Yes, and I wish you to continue so. I have 
a patient for whom I often prescribe, and when- 
ever she has any medicine she always gives 
some to her little son, with the remark, ‘ Take a 
little, Georgie, for fear you will be sick.’ I am 
proceeding somewhat on the same principle. 
You will find Pebble Springs a beautiful place.” 

“ But, papa, must I go alone ?” 

“ Wont some of the girls go with you ?” 

“ The girls are away, travelling from place to 
place. Edith still has company, and Ethel and 
Bessie have not returned from their trip.” 

“You will find plenty of people there.” 

Ruth knew that the question was decided, 
and was not quite sure that she was pleased. 
She looked thoughtful, which her aunt observ- 
ing said, “ John, will you look at my tongue?” 

Her brother complied, with some surprise, 
and returned the verdict of “ All right.” 

“ Now feel my pulse.” 

Dr. Livermore looked at her a moment and 
then laughed. “ I think you need rest after the 
exertions of the summer,” he said, “ and a few 
draughts from Pebble Springs might do you 
much good.” 


AT LAST. 


297 


Ruth looked up quickly, then, rising, threw 
. her arms around her aunt, while Daisy jumping 
into her lap exclaimed, “You dear old aunty !” 

“When shall we start?” inquired Ruth, to 
whom the ptospect looked brighter now that she 
was to have congenial company. For Aunt 
Ellen was very congenial now. Her inherent 
fine qualities and disposition, which had been 
repressed and dwarfed by a too austere atmo- 
sphere, had gradually asserted themselves, and 
her truly artistic taste showed itself in her dress 
and surroundings. She was a Livermore, her 
sister had said, and cousin Eunice’s dwarfed 
ideas and severe training, though hard to over- 
come, were being pushed aside ; but it was not 
until — almost unknown to herself — she took hold 
of the strength that “ overcometh ” that she was 
able to obtain a complete victory. 

Ruth wondered that her aunt hesitated to 
answer her question, and looked at her inquir- 
ingly. 

“ To-day is Wednesday,” she replied, as 
though deciding some question in her own 
mind ; “ would you mind waiting until Mon- 
day ?” 

Ruth replied in the negative, still wondering ; 
Aunt Ellen was usually so prompt in thought 
and action. 

Friday evening as they were about to leave 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


298 

the supper-table Miss Livermore said, “ I think 
I will unite with the church before I go to Peb- 
ble Springs.” 

Every one excepting her brother looked 
surprised, which Aunt Ellen noticed, and con- 
tinued, “ I have been thinking of it for some 
time, and yesterday I went to see Mr. Stearns 
and he gave me his cordial approval and will 
present my name to the church.” 

There was nothing striking in her experience 
as she gave it. She had always intended to be- 
come a Christian some time, but had postponed 
the subject till it was almost too late. Ruth’s 
words, spoken so long ago with so much trepida- 
tion, first roused her to a consciousness of delay ; 
and the Christian lives of her nearest friends led 
her to desire to become one of them in a tie 
even stronger than the closest earthly relation- 
ship. 

The following Sabbath there was rejoicing 
at the church once more as Aunt Ellen publicly 
took upon her the vows which bound her here- 
after to the people of God. 

“And now,” she said the next morning, “ I 
am ready.” A lovely morning it was, and the 
journey, though uneventful, was pleasant, and 
not long enough to weary them. 

Ruth was much pleased with her first view 
of Pebble Springs. The hotel stood on a slight 


AT LAST. 


299 


eminence and was surrounded by extensive 
lawns, interspersed with gay flower-beds, and 
shaded by large trees resplendent in their au- 
tumnal dress, and over all hung the soft haze of 
the Indian summer. 

She found her father’s prescription of rest 
very agreeable, if not absolutely needful. She 
spent hours on the sunny veranda, with book or 
fancy-work, or dreamily watching the flaming 
leaves as they rustled to the ground. And into 
her heart came great peace, which seemed to 
surround her like the sunshine. Two weeks 
glided away, and it was with some regret that 
she thought of leaving the quiet restfulness of 
the place and engaging in active life again ; she 
wondered if it would be possible to keep this 
sweet peace always with her, and then remem- 
bered the words, that “ the peace of a disciple 
does not depend upon his surroundings, but 
upon his nearness to his Saviour.” 

One evening, as the twilight began to gath- 
er, she went into the parlor, a favorite place of 
resort with her. And truly it was a beautiful 
room, large and airy, with windows on three 
sides: it was divided by a row of arches, the 
spaces between which were filled with rare ex- 
otic ferns. 

The room was deserted at this time ; she 
crossed it to the farthest corner, and seating 


300 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


herself at the piano poured forth the gladness 
of her heart in songs of praise, and then, as 
thoughts of friends who did not share this great 
joy came to her, the thanksgiving changed to 
prayer for them, and the prayer was earnest for 
one whom she never forgot. Almost uncon- 
sciously she sang words which had not passed 
her lips for over a year, ‘‘ God be with you till 
we meet again.” 

A gentleman who for a few moments had 
been slowly pacing up and down the length of 
the piazza came nearer, and listened intently. 
Ruth finished the verses, but could sing no 
more. She bowed her head a moment and a 
silent prayer ascended for herself ; then rising, 
with calm face and quiet step she left the room. 
In the hall she met her aunt. 

“ Did you know the Carters were here?” she 
inquired ; and in reply to Ruth’s negative added, 
“ They are in rooms nine and eleven.” 

Ruth sought them and received from all a 
hearty greeting, though she fancied that there 
was constraint in Sarah’s manner. 

After tea they all assembled on the piazza. 
The evening star hung low in the western sky, 
the moon, the “hunter’s moon,” touched all 
objects with a silver sheen. 

“A perfect evening,” Mrs. Carter remarked ; 
she hoped they would all enjoy it fully as she 


AT LAST. 


301 


intended to, and she settled herself comfortably 
back in her arm-chair. 

They were chatting merrily when the sound 
of an approaching footstep arrested the atten- 
tion of Ruth, and a moment later a tall, manly 
figure stood before them. Ruth did not need to 
hear the voice to know that the friend for whose 
return she had watched so long was present. 
She had no time to wonder why he was there, 
but she noticed that his manner was cold and 
his mood one which his cousin designated as 
unapproachable. 

He shook hands with the Carters, who did 
not seem at all surprised to see him, but who did 
express wonder as he said, “ I have come to bid 
you good-by ; circumstances entirely beyond my 
control make it imperative that I leave on the 
early morning train, and I shall not see you 
again.” 

Then turning to Miss Livermore and Ruth 
he exchanged a few words in a constrained 
manner, and soon was gone. 

Ruth listened to the echo of his footsteps as 
he walked to the end of the long piazza, and 
then all was silent till she heard Mrs. Carter 
say, “ Well, I declare ! if it was anybody but 
Paul Cleaveland I should feel downright indig- 
nant ; as though he ” — 

Ruth heard no more ; she rose and crossed 


302 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


the piazza in the direction opposite to the one 
taken by Paul, and resting both hands on the 
rail looked off into space. Where was the 
peace which had filled her heart only a few 
moments before ? She recalled the words which 
came to her then, that “ the peace of a disciple 
does not depend upon his surroundings.” Were 
they true? and, if so, had her Saviour with- 
drawn his presence when she needed it so 
much ? She thought of his promise, “ I will 
never leave thee nor forsake thee.” She bowed 
her head a moment and struggled to grasp the 
promise and make it her own, and when she 
returned to the little group on the opposite end 
of the piazza it was with a calm face and steady 
voice ; even her aunt could detect no difference 
in her demeanor. 

So it was a very calm, sweet Ruth whom her 
parents welcomed home a few days later. If 
she grieved, no one knew it. Life, with its 
round of calls and visits, its pleasures and 
duties, was taken up again, and the girls thought 
Ruth’s sojourn at the Springs had made her 
dearer than ever, with a kind of sweet reserve 
withal which they could not fathom. 

And so the days went by until Ruth had 
been at home a week, when, one morning, Jen- 
nie came to the door announcing a gentleman 
visitor in the drawing-room. 


AT LAST. 


303 


She took the card from the silver tray and 
read the name of Paul Cleaveland. She dis- 
missed the girl, with the message that she would 
be down directly, and then stood quiet a mo- 
ment to gather strength for the meeting. 

It was with her most dignified bearing that 
she entered the drawing-room and greeted the 
gentleman who rose to meet her. Paul was 
always pleased to see Ruth in this mood ; dig- 
nity was extremely becoming to her, though 
seldom carried to the extent of hauteur she 
assumed now. 

His greeting was kind and easy, and yet 
there was some restraint. The day was cool, 
the November wind shook the bare branches, 
but he made no comment on the weather, and 
Ruth knew that he came because he had some- 
thing special to say. She tried to nerve herselr 
to listen calmly, all uncertain what it might be. 

“ I thought at first that I would not call to 
see you,” he commenced, “ but I owe you a debt 
of gratitude, and it is only fitting that I should 
pay it. In so doing I may be obliged to be 
quite personal, but you must excuse me, and not 
think for a moment that I intend to presume.” 

He looked at her inquiringly, as though ask- 
ing permission to proceed, and Ruth bowed her 
acquiescence. 

“ When I bade you good-by, a little more 


304 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


than a year ago,” he resumed, “ it was with 
mingled feelings of grief, disappointment and 
anger. The latter was not exercised towards 
you,” he explained, noticing her look of sur- 
prised interrogation, “ but for that which seemed 
to me then to be a trivial reason for the answer 
you gave me. I cannot explain subsequent 
events without alluding to this,” and Ruth won- 
dered at the apologetic tone in which he spoke. 

“ As you know, I immediately took passage 
for Europe. I made no acquaintances during 
the voyage ; indeed, I barely gave a civil answer 
when spoken to. I was restless and unhappy. 
As soon as we landed I began to travel, visiting 
all the places of interest, so called, but they pos- 
sessed little of pleasure for me. 

“ I spent a few weeks in this manner, and 
then thought to try study, but with little better 
success. I was wholly unreconciled to m.y sep- 
aration from you, and was very sure that if re- 
ligion were the cause, I wished none of it ; and 
yet I knew that my only chance of success was 
through that. After a time I began to attend 
church. Most of the sermons to which I listened 
tended but one way : sin was in the world, and 
its remedy was the atoning sacrifice. I could 
not accept that fact. I believed that Paul Cleave- 
land was leading an exemplary life. But your 
words, ‘ For all have sinned, and come short of 


AT LAST. 


305 


the glory of God,’ continued to trouble me, and 
your question, ‘ How many good works are nec- 
essary for obtaining an entrance into heaven ?’ 
persisted in repeating itself, 

“ After a time it occurred to me to see for 
myself what the Bible said on the question, and 
yet I knew that I should not accept its evidence 
as conclusive if it differed from my own ideas ; 
so I was only rendered the more doubtful and 
unhappy. 

“ One evening I went out for a walk, and 
wandered on, regardless of where my steps led 
me, until I found myself in a part of the city en- 
tirely unfamiliar to me. The street was narrow, 
the houses poor, and the people of the lower 
class. I was not at all pleased, and was about to 
retrace my steps when the sound of singing 
caught my ear. It was so peculiar that I stopped, 
and saw that 1 was opposite a brilliantly lighted 
room. By the door, in large letters, were the 
words, ‘ Come in ; all are welcome and out 
through the open window floated the refrain, 

‘ Come to Jesus, come to Jesus, 

Come to Jesus just now.’ 

I could not then have told what influence led 
me, but I crossed the threshold and found my- 
self in a large, plain room, the only furniture 
being benches, which filled most of the space, 

I’Hths and By-Paths. 


3o6 paths and by-paths. 

with a table and two chairs on a platform. And 
such an assembly ! Boys, evidently bootblacks ; 
men whom I could not class— tramps they 
seemed, with ragged clothes and unkempt locks. 
The man seated at the table was evidently a 
gentleman. He rose, and offering me the vacant 
chair handed me a singing-book.” 

“ A mission room !” exclaimed Ruth with in- 
terested face. 

“ Yes, you recognize it by the description. I 
knew there were such places, but I had never 
seen one of this kind before. The people seemed 
to belong to a different world.” 

Ruth could easily imagine the consternation 
of the haughty, aristocratic young man upon 
finding himself in such company, and also the 
air of high breeding with which he kept all such 
feelings in the background. She looked her 
eagerness for the sequel, and Paul with a smile 
which had much of sadness in it continued : 

“ After the singing the leader offered prayer, 
and then read the very words which had troub- 
led me so much : ‘ For all have sinned and come 
short of the glory of God.’ ‘ These words are 
true,’ he said. ‘ It is of no use for John to look 
at James and say. You stole : I never did ; and 
therefore you have sinned and I have not.’ It 
will not do for me to stand here and rejoice in 
the fact that, because I have never been intox- 


AT LAST. 


307 


icated and some of you have, I am righteous 
and you are not. The Bible says all have sin- 
ned, from the king on his throne to the peasant 
in the field.’ 

“ I cannot tell you how indignant I was that 
the speaker should class me with the audience 
before me. My impulse was to leave the room, 
but something kept me quiet. The leader took 
no notice of me, and I could not tell whether he 
had me in mind or not. 

“ ‘ Now,’ he continued, ‘ we will admit the 
fact that we all have sinned : perhaps you are 
ready to say, ‘ We have not all sinned in the 
same degree.’ In one thing we are exactly 
alike— in rejecting the Lord Jesus Christ. We 
are all poor and needy until adopted into his 
family. Then we become the children of a 
King. Some of us belong to that royal family, 
and I know you are longing to speak a word in 
his praise.’ And then one after another rose 
and told how they were saved — many from the 
power of strong drink, with all its accornpanying 
miseries and crimes. Their language was rude 
and illiterate, but they spoke of joy and peace 
which I had tried in vain to find. 

“ At the close of the service the leader asked 
me if I had been adopted into the King’s family, 
and I told him I had not, as he looked at it. He 
invited me to come again, but I left the room 


3o8 paths and by-paths. 

resolved that I never would re-enter it: and 
then commenced a season of utter wretchedness. 
Here was a question which must be settled and I 
could not meet it. I attended church regularly, 
and sought in the music and elegance of splen- 
did cathedrals to find rest. I do not doubt it was 
there, but not for me. Then I attended churches 
of more humble appearance, and one Sunday I 
took my place full of bitter thoughts. I do not 
know where the text was. I was roused after a 
little by hearing the preacher say, ‘ We own but 
one thing, my friends. God says, “ If I were 
hungry I would not tell thee ; for the world is 
mine and the fulness thereof.” The silver and 
the gold are his and the cattle upon a thou- 
sand hills ; only our will belongs to us each as in- 
dividuals, and that we must yield before God 
can bless us.’ 

I thought I had found the solution to the 
whole matter. In an instant it flashed upon me 
what I must do, and I as quickly resolved that I 
never would.” 

Ruth looked up with a glance of intelligence. 

“ I see you understand,” he said. You can 
imagine that the struggle which commenced in 
my mind exceeded everything I had ever before 
experienced, and it lasted until I was completely 
wearied and worn. I did everything but that 
which was required of me. I was too utterly 


AT LAST. 


309 


Wretched to pay attention to anything else, and 
at last, in sheer desperation, I took my way to the 
despised mission room. Nothing in the service 
soothed me or brought me comfort. I was wait- 
ing, outwardly quiet enough, for the invitation 
which was always given at the close of the meet- 
ing, and then I rose with those whom I so thor- 
oughly despised and thus acknowledged myself 
as one needing the same Saviour they were 
seeking. 

“The result was marvellous.” Paul’s face 
lighted with a feeling Ruth had never seen 
there before. “ I saw it all at once. I believed 
that my sin was greater than any committed by 
those who stood with me, for I had sinned 
against greater light. I wondered if I could 
ever be forgiven ; but the mercy of my Heaven- 
ly Father was so great to me that I felt as 
though I had suddenly been surrounded with an 
atmosphere of joy and peace.” 

Ruth was shedding tears of joy, which soon 
changed to those of grief as Paul said, “You 
will excuse my long story. I thought it was 
only right to thank you for leading me in this 
beautiful way, and to tell you that, beneath all 
the sorrow I cannot but feel now, joy and peace 
still reign. God knows best. And now, good- 
by. We may not often meet; our paths will 
probably diverge widely.” 


310 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


And was this all ? There was some mistake 
which Ruth could not fathom, but she had no 
chance to explain. 

Paul lingered a moment. May I ask you 
where your future home is to be ?” he said at 
last ; but what a strange question ! 

“ Where it has always been, I presume,” and 
she surprised herself at the coolness of her 
tone. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said. “ I thought 
that as the engagement was announced I should 
not be deemed presuming by my question.” 

Ruth looked at him in unfeigned astonish- 
ment. “May I ask what any person’s engage- 
ment has to do with my future residence ?” 

Paul was silent for a moment, and Ruth 
waited. 

“ Miss Livermore,” he said at last, “ I do not 
understand. I have been informed by authority 
I deemed uncontrovertible that you were en- 
gaged to Richard Stearns.” 

She understood it all now. She could not 
blame him and she pitied his informer too 
much to be angry with her. She stood with 
downcast eyes, a multitude of thoughts surging 
through her mind. Paul came to her side and 
taking her hand said, “ This is no time to stand 
on conventionalities. I could not love you as I 
have,” he hesitated, “and do now, but that I 


AT LAST. 31 1 

believe in your candor and truthfulness. Have 
you broken the engagement?” 

“No,” she replied, “ it never existed.” 

Silence again for a moment and then Paul 
said, speaking very tenderly, “As soon as I 
found peace in believing, my first thought was 
of you. Of course I did not know that you 
would care to hear from me. You had given 
me little reason to think that you would, but 
you were dearer to me than ever. I would not 
stop to write, for the same steamer which would 
carry a letter could take the writer of the epistle, 
so I recrossed the ocean, and landing in New 
York met the Carters. I intended to take the 
next train for Linden, but Miss Mary informed 
me that you were stopping at Pebble Springs 
and that they were on their way to that place. 
I immediately decided to go with them, think- 
ing to see you sooner than by my original plan. 
Just before we arrived at the Springs Miss 
Carter told me of your engagement. 

“ You may imagine its effect upon me ; but 
there was no way for me then but to go on to 
the Springs. I resolved that I would not see 
you if I could possibly avoid it. I heard you 
sing but kept out of range of your vision. Of 
course I could not leave without bidding the 
Carters good-by. I did not know that you were 
with them and it took all my self-control to pass 


I’ATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


31^ 

through the ordeal. I did not expect to see yoU 
again, but felt that I ought to thank you for 
turning my thoughts to better things. Ruth, 
Will you now accept that which you refused 
more than a year ago — the love which has 
strengthened with every moment of separa- 
tion ?” 

And Ruth’s long time of waiting was ended 
and she was very thankful that she had made 
duty paramount to inclination. 

She did not see Paul again until the next 
evening, and then he came to bid her good-by 
for a short time. 

“ You do not ask me anything about my 
plans for the future,” he said. “ Have you no 
interest now in the question I asked you yester- 
day — where your future home will be ?” 

“ Why,” said Ruth, bewildered, “ here, of 
course.” 

Paul laughed, and then became very sober. 
“ I hope you will like my plans,” he said a little 
anxiously. “ They would not have been made 
without consulting you, under other circum- 
stances. Have you heard of the college at Pe- 
tersburg?” 

“ The one where those who are intending to 
go as missionaries to foreign countries are in- 
structed in the languages, and otherwise pre- 
pared ?” 


AT LAST; 


31S 

“ Ves. A day or two after I left Pebble 
Springs I met Dean Otis, and he said, ‘ Cleave- 
land, you are just the man we need to supply a 
vacancy,’ and then, suddenly pausing, he added, 
* if you only were a Christian.’ ” 

“ How glad I am that you could tell him that 
you were,” said Ruth, more proud of that fact 
than of his position and learning. 

He smiled a glad, happy smile. “After a 
little further conversation I felt that I could 
enter heartily into the work, and accordingly 
accepted. The president’s house is very pleas- 
ant, although at the time I gave it but little 
thought ; but I am glad now, and will have it 
ready for you by New- Year.” 

Ruth shook her head. 

In vain he urged that circumstances were 
different now. The little lady was obdurate. 

“ Well,” he said, when all arguments had 
failed, “ self-abnegation is not my forte. I yield 
because I must.” 

And so it was arranged that the wedding 
should take place the following fall, in October, 
that they should go abroad for three months, and 
take possession of their new home a year from 
January. 


314 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THROUGH DARKNESS. 

The last day of the old year was drawing to 
a close. The leaden sky prognosticated a storm ; 
the chilly wind whirled little clouds of dust 
into the eyes of pedestrians who were unfortu- 
nate enough to be on the street. Sarah and 
Mary Carter were hurrying home from Bessie’s, 
where they had been for a little chat. As they 
came in sight of the front gate they saw Patrick, 
the coachman, riding furiously down the road. 

“ What is your hurry ?” called Sarah as he 
passed them. But he made no reply, not slacken- 
ing his speed in the least, even to lift his hat. 

“What can be the matter?” said Mary as 
with accelerated steps they hurried through the 
grounds. 

As they came in sight of the house they 
paused a moment and looked at each other. 
The stable -door was open, Patrick evidently 
being in too much haste to close it when he 
made his hasty exit. The front door was not 
latched, and as the young ladies pushed it open 
they saw one of the servants standing at the 
foot of the stairs with white, frightened face. 


THROUGH DARKNESS. 315 

“ What is the trouble ?" inquired Sarah once 
more. 

“Oh, young ladies,” replied the girl, “it’s 
your pa.” 

They waited for no more, but went hurriedly 
up stairs to their mother’s room, the door of 
which was ajar. Pushing it open, they saw their 
father on the bed, white and motionless. Mrs. 
Carter was chafing his hands, while the seam- 
stress stood opposite looking helplessly on. 

Mary advanced to the foot of the bed and 
stood there motionless, while Sarah threw her- 
self on the lounge in violent hysterics. And 
thus Dr. Livermore found them when he e'.i- 
tered the room a few moments later. 

Mrs. Carter looked up beseechingly, exclaim- 
ing, “ Oh, doctor, help him ! help him !” 

One glance at the still form and the doctor 
laid his hand on that of the faithful wife’s, look- 
ing into her face with pitying glance. 

“ Will you come with me ?” he inquired. 

“No, oh, no,” she replied, “not until you 
help him! Why don’t you do something for 
him ?” 

“He is past all help!” The tone was low 
and full of sympathy, but it found its way to all 
there. 

With a shriek Sarah left the room. Mrs. 
Carter looked up helplessly, suffering herself to 


3i6 paths and feY-t^ATHS. 

be led away and placed in a large easy-chair id 
another room. Mary followed without a word. 

“ He passed away without any suffering,” 
said Dr. Livermore, offering the only word of 
consolation he could command. 

“ Oh, doctor,” replied Mrs. Carter with tear- 
less eyes, “ he had no time for preparation !” 

What could this Christian man say to such 
grief as this? Words were vain, and, kneeling, 
he committed them all to the keeping of the 
only 'One who could comfort, and then quietly 
left the room. Giving a few directions to the 
frightened servants he drove directly home. 

“I bring sad news,” he said, entering the 
sitting-room. “ I have just come from the Car- 
ters’. Mr. Carter is dead !” 

Impossible !” exclaimed Aunt Ellen. “ I 
met him in the city this morning.” 

“ It is true, nevertheless. You know he has 
not been well for a long time.” 

“ But I thought he was better,” said Mrs. 
Livermore. 

“ In some respects he was. Journeying was 
a good thing for him ; but neither travelling nor 
drinking the waters of the most celebrated 
springs will cure heart disease.” 

“ Did he know that was his trouble ?” inquired 
Ruth, with a voice she tried in vain to render 
steady. 


THROUGH DARKNESS. 317 

“ Yes ; I had a long talk with him nearly a 
year ago.” 

Ruth knew what that talk meant. The spir- 
itual disease had then received treatment as 
well as the physical. 

“ How did it happen ?” inquired Mrs. Liver- 
more. 

“ He went to the city apparently as well as 
usual this morning, and having considerable 
business to transact dismissed his carriage. 
About three o’clock he took the car and rode to 
the end of the road, walking the rest of the way. 
He fell just as he reached his own door. These 
are the facts as nearly as I can learn them.” 

“Who is there with Mrs. Carter?” inquired 
Aunt Ellen, rolling up her knitting, which had 
taken the form of delicate lace now that she 
had supplied all her friends with socks. 

“ No one excepting the family.” 

“ I will go with you,” said Ruth. 

Mrs. Carter looked up when, a short time 
later, Ruth entered the room where the doctor 
had left her. Her position was unchanged. She 
held her hand out to Ruth, who took it silently. 
She had no words to offer, but taking a low seat 
by the side of her stricken friend the girl nes- 
tled closely to her, caressing the hand she still 
held ; and so Aunt Ellen found them a little 
later. 


3I8 paths and by-paths. 

“ Sit still,” she said ; “I will see to every- 
thing and, true to her word, she attended to 
all the household affairs during the dark days 
which followed. The servants came to her for 
directions and Mrs. Carter and her daughters for 
comfort and sympathy. 

And then there came a day when the girls 
carried sweet flowers,, covering them from the 
chilly air, and friends and acquaintances gathered 
in the darkened house and listened to the read- 
ing of the sacred word in the hushed stillness, 
and bowed their heads as words of solemn prayer 
ascended to the loving Father, offered from a 
heart full of tender sympathy by the loved pas- 
tor ; and then out into the cold and gathering 
darkness of the winter day they bore the late 
master of that splendid mansion, and the few 
who loved him best followed closely, with ach- 
ing hearts, attended by sympathizing relatives 
and friends, and the slow procession passed 
down the winding road to the burial place. 

The family returned to the desolate home 
and took up the duties of life again as best they 
could, Mrs. Carter and Mary leaning on the 
arm of strength promised to all God’s children, 
and trying in vain to point Sarah to the one and 
only source of comfort. But she was shrouded 
in gloomy darkness. 

Ruth was a very welcome visitor to Mrs. 


THROUGH DARKNESS. 319 

Carter and Mary, but Sarah treated her coolly, 
much to her surprise and grief. 

Going through the long hall, one afternoon 
in February, Ruth found Mrs. Carter and her 
daughter in the sitting-room. The former look- 
ed up as she entered, exclaiming, “ I am so glad 
to see you. I want you to tell me what to do !” 

Ruth saw that they all looked troubled. Sa- 
rah had evidently stayed her tears when she 
opened the door. She looked at Mrs. Carter 
inquiringly. 

“ It is about the disposal of Mr. Carter’s busi- 
ness; what shall I do with it?” 

“ Just as you always have. Let it go on and 
take the money,” said Sarah before Ruth had 
time to reply. 

She understood now, and her heart went out 
in sympathy as the difficulties of the position 
flashed through her mind. 

“ I will not use money obtained by a traffic 
which keeps my fellow beings out of heaven, 
and yet I do not know what to do.” 

Sarah sobbed violently. “ I do not see why 
you need tell every one about it. I hate the 
business as much as you do, but I would not 
speak of it now and disgrace my dead husband’s 
name ; besides, we must have money.” 

“ Father left an abundance without the busi- 
ness,” said her sister. 


320 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


A little silence followed these remarks. Mrs. 
Carter was evidently struggling with her feel- 
ings. At last she said, “ I will go out washing, 
if needful, before I will carry on the business 
any longer. Right is right and wrong is wrong. 
I can’t help what people say. I am looking 
higher than that. Every one may misjudge me, 
but my Heavenly Father will not, and to him 
alone I am accountable. But I do not know 
what to do. I have been praying about it. a long 
time, but I do not see my way clear. I cannot 
sell the stock and good-will, for that would cause 
me to use the money just the same. I am at a 
loss what to do. Wont you ask your father to 
call and see me if he can spare time ?” And 
promising to do this, Ruth bade her good-by 
and went out into the twilight with a feeling 
almost of awe for the noble woman who, for the 
cause of right, could voluntarily give up that 
which the world prizes so highly. 

Very quietly and with a preoccupied air Ruth 
took her place at the supper table. Her father 
watched her a few moments and then said, 
‘‘Well, daughter, what problem are you trying 
to solve now ?” 

“ A very difficult one. I am trying to help 
Mrs. Carter dispose of her business, and wonder- 
ing why there are not more women in the world 
as grand as she is,” 


THROUGH DARKNESS. 


321 


“ Will you descend to the level of common 
mortals and inform us what you have to do with 
Mrs. Carter’s affairs, and what has called forth 
that burst of admiration for her ?” inquired Aunt 
Ellen. 

But Ruth would not smile; she was very 
grave as she replied, Mrs. Carter says she will 
receive no more money from the business in 
which Mr. Carter was engaged; but she does 
not know what to do with it.” 

The doctor looked as grave as his daughter 
as he said, “The difficulty is solved, but in a 
very different way from what she probably ex- 
pected. Mr. Carter died insolvent.” 

“ Impossible !” exclaimed his sister ; “I 
thought there was no end to his money.” 

“ A truly feminine idea. His income was 
large, and his affairs were very wisely managed 
by his nephew, young Parmenter. He invested 
the money carefully, and consequently at a low 
rate of interest. Mr. Carter was not satisfied, 
and when Clarence ventured to expostulate, sum- 
marily discharged him.” 

“That was a year ago, was it not?” inquired 
Ruth. 

“ Yes, when he started in the insurance busi- 
ness for himself.” 

“ Pity his uncle did not follow his advice,” 
said Aunt Ellen. 

Paths and By-Paths. 2 I 


322 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Apparently, but that remains to be seen. I 
believe, with Mrs. Carter, that no Christian 
should use a revenue from such a source if it 
can possibly be avoided. Mrs. Carter meant to 
do the best she could under the circumstances. 
I think the temperance and mission causes will 
miss her gifts.” 

“ But you have not told us how Mr. Carter 
lost his money,” suggested Mrs. Livermore. 

“ He put it in investments promising high 
rates of interest. I do not know that I can ex- 
plain it fully, but Mr. Parmenter told me that 
the whole fortune had gone. There was not 
enough to meet the liabilities. The place, fur- 
niture and all, will have to be sold.” 

An exclamation of dismay went around the 
table. 

“What will they do?” said Ruth, vainly try- 
ing to keep back the tears, which Daisy sug- 
gested would spoil her custard ; as no one paid 
attention to her she helped herself to a second 
glass, inwardly determining that one should not 
be spoiled if she could help it. 

“ Mrs. Carter has a little property in her own 
right, which came to her at the death of her 
father, and which Clarence, by some means, 
prevented his uncle from investing with his 
own. By economy they can live comfortably 
from the income. Mr. Parmenter wished me 


THROUGH DARKNESS. 323 

to see his aunt and inform her of the state of 
affairs.” 

Ruth delivered the message entrusted to her, 
and her father promised to call there on the 
morrow. 

“ How good God is to me !” Mrs. Carter ex- 
claimed, when she had heard of the state of 
her affairs. “ Here I have been worrying, and 
now it is all settled for me. I do not believe I 
will ever worry again.” 

The doctor bade her good-by with a bow 
which expressed more of genuine respect than 
even his most intimate friends, with all his 
courtesy, often received. 

When Clarence came home that evening he 
found his aunt moving round the dining-room 
and softly singing, “ He leadeth me.” She 
looked at him with eyes filled with tears, but 
with a face full of peace, and told him to tell 
the creditors that they might take possession 
of everything immediately. And they, touched 
by her perfect self-abnegation, insisted that she 
should retain enough of the best of the furni- 
ture to thoroughly furnish the cottage she im- 
mediately hired. 

In vain Sarah protested, declaring that there 
was no need for such haste, they might remain 
where they were for months ; a few days later 
found them settled in their new home, and 


324 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


Sarah, going up stairs in the twilight into the 
room which was to be exclusively her own, felt 
that she had reached the climax of utter misery 
and wretchedness. 

She closed the door and looked around, for 
she had taken but little interest in the change. 
The room was much smaller than the one in 
the home she had just left, but very pleasant, 
facing the south. A Brussels carpet covered 
the floor ; pictures hung on the walls ; a book- 
case stood in one corner filled with her favorite 
authors, and her own comfortable easy -chair 
was placed by the window. 

Seating herself in it, and looking around, a 
feeling of tenderness gradually took possession 
of her mind. How kind her mother had been, 
and how was she requiting her! She looked 
back over her past life and for the first time 
realized what a misspent one it had been ; and, 
as she thought, a feeling of self-condemnation 
and despair took possession of her. What 
should she do ? Over and over she asked her- 
self the question. She felt that she had sinned 
away the day of grace ; that there was no hope 
for her. 

Long she sat there, while the French clock 
on the mantel chimed the hours and the half- 
hours, until, late in the night, she threw herself 
upon the bed and slept from utter exhaustion. 


THROUGH DARKNESS. 325 

Very worn and weary she looked when, a 
few hours later, she went to the dining-room. 
Her mother glanced at her, opened her lips to 
ask what ailed her, but closed them again and 
ministered gently and tenderly to her wants, 
setting before her a nice warm breakfast. 

Later in the day Bessie came in and found 
Sarah in her room. She stopped in amazement 
as she caught a glimpse of her face, and laying 
hef hand on her arm said, “ Why, Sarah ! do not 
feel so badly. I am sure this room is as pretty 
as your old one, only smaller.” 

And Sarah, lifting her weary eyes, said, I 
do not care for the room, I was not thinking of 
it and, as Bessie waited, continued, “ I am 
utterly wretched and unhappy. I am sur- 
rounded by darkness ; the heavens seem like 
brass, and I have no resting-place.” 

For a moment Bessie was speechless. Was 
it possible that the prayers offered by the girls 
for years were about to be answered ? Chiding 
herself for her little faith she said, You know 
who says ‘Call upon me in the day of trouble. I 
will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.’ ” 

“ I have called, but my sins shut me in com- 
pletely. There is no hope for me.” 

“ ‘ If we confess our sins, he is faithful and 
just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us 
from all unrighteousness,’ ” quoted Bessie. 


326 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

“ I know,” interrupted Sarah ; “ but must we 
confess to each other as well as to God ?” 

“ That depends upon circumstances,” replied 
Bessie. “I suppose if we have intentionally 
wronged any one we should tell him so.” 

“ Then I can never be a Christian,” and 
Sarah leaned back wearily. 

For a long time Bessie pleaded with her to 
make her peace with God, humbly accepting 
his free forgiveness and grace. At length 
Sarah refused to talk any more, and Bessie left 
her miserable and rebellious. The sins of her 
whole life seemed to culminate in that one 
wrong to Ruth, and Sarah finally came to 
realize that until that was confessed and for- 
given she could not find peace. Then com- 
menced the fiercest struggle her strong nature 
had ever passed through. It lasted for hours, 
until, completely exhausted, she bowed her 
head on her folded hands, resting both on the 
table. And thus Ruth found her when, in 
answer to her knock, Sarah had faintly bidden 
her “ Come in.” 

She was shocked at sight of Sarah’s face as 
she raised her head, it was so haggard and 
worn. 

“Are you ill ?” she inquired. 

Sarah shook her head, and then suddenly 
rising and resting her hands on the table for 




vw^: 







M^'- 

... v,.^ ,-.SV. 


Paths and Bv-Paths, Page 326 










'* 

" X*^ .’ “ ■ . 

V: 

^ • ■ » . * r 

V’. -• 
X *' ‘ 


.- 

« 

.. ^ 



• • ’ ' . » # ■ 

r 

/ j- ' 







te^ 


i - > '.. : .'Sfi ;,nf^: : . ‘♦V.-, '.■•^V 'C. 



* .^.. I.J* , . 'K 

V 


» , 


: •> . 

fl ,. 5 . ;;'J 

• -i# .-- ‘ -' ■ 


I'V 


, i *. • 


. » 




V 


■ # 

■ - :>-^ -' -., 

" W- ‘■- , 









:>*.• 

fb" * • 


• .- 








- ^ ... . 

;irv> •*■■■■’-<"' 


• 

> ^ 




a 

t 


« I 


* 


♦ 

♦ i. 


:!:^fe-r- .. ,.r 



t''^f 


VL*. 



Ha 

Q 


^ * ■ -^^li " ‘f Hk • * » ■ . ■ ^ 4 .* B^9 :X , I jf.- -■ • ». 

• A u f r , v> ' . * - » , "^r I -•. . ' * m 'K - » L - i 

Sr^' tf - ;. *• ‘ . « ’ -■-■* A • . i*. “ X v 





j 

* 




. * 


j ^ 


? •J‘— .• '*■ 


- ’*-4 f' .. -■•• rlw’ ' 

**- . * ^^' "'V 1 * » ' *' •* * 


-"TT? 




. J*, .,i- VV.jLi,4H*!**iati>''*- .V- : 




h •>. « 




*i - r 

jl 




;v 




^ • 




£(. , . 


. <>!•' 




rwtStfOS?^^ *. • 2 . TE'-J . • * ♦ ’i£ •• \»'w' 


< ' (t 


■- 

T « 


^ * 


m-. 


f£> 


• y> 


Vs 



•%’ iL^-x, ;’_ ■ * 1 ' '*<** .■ «PG&y^. «*. V'!^^-- ^'. ’• 


5*' 

» 





THROUGH DARKNESS. 


327 


support said hurriedly, as though fearful that 
she might not have courage to continue, “ Ruth, 
my acquaintance with you commenced wrong. 
I was envious of your superior position and 
more ladylike ways ; but when I saw that you 
treated me just as you did the other girls that 
feeling left me for a time, and I really loved 
you. But when we went south, and met Paul 
Cleaveland, the demon of envy returned with 
tenfold force. I determined that he should care 
for me. You know how useless it was, and I 
do not blame him now. 

“ When I met him just before we went to 
Pebble Springs, last fall, I deliberately told him 
you were engaged to Richard Stearns. I will 
do myself the justice to say I really thought it 
might be so ; but, whether it were so or not, I 
wished him to believe it. Ruth, do you despise 
me ?” and she buried her face in her hands. 

Ruth caressingly smoothed the glossy dark 
hair on the bowed head as she said, “ Dear Sa- 
rah, never think or speak of it again. It did no 
harm. I forgive you heartily.” 

If Ruth had been far less forgiving than she 
was her heart would have been full of pity and 
love for the unhappy and penitent girl ; and she 
realized in a measure what it cost Sarah to make 
such a confession. Kissing her again and again 
she quietly left the room. 


328 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


I have done all I can, now,” said Sarah 
to herself. “ I do not see that I feel any differ- 
ently. It is just as dark as ever. Well, I will 
go on and do the best I can. I certainly do not 
deserve light. May God forgive me as Ruth 
has done.” And with this thought she received 
the first ray of comfort. 

No great joy came to her, but gradually peace 
filled her heart, and those who knew her noticed 
her changed life. When, a few weeks later, she 
again called on Mr. Stearns he gladly received 
her, and she was welcomed by all her Christian 
friends as a true follower of Christ. 

I 


THE BETTER WAY. 


329 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE BETTER WAY. 

The secretary’s report at the Sewing Circle 
was read and accepted. “ And now,” said Mrs. 
Rhodes, the President, “ I think we had better 
sew while we take up the unfinished business. 
I would like to send this box to-morrow. For 
the benefit of those who were not present at the 
last meeting I will state that the subject of ways 
and means to obtain money for painting and re- 
pairing the church was spoken of, with a request 
that the matter should receive due consideration 
and be decided this afternoon.” 

** Are the ladies expected to raise the money ?” 
inquired Miss Curtis. 

“ Some of the gentlemen thought it would be 
a nice thing for them to do so.” 

‘‘Why don’t they do it themselves? You 
know that most of us have to go to the gentle- 
men for money.” 

“ I do not see why we need to,” objected Mrs. 
Searles. “ I am sure there are ways enough in 
which we can raise it.” 

“ Five hundred dollars is a large sum,” said 
Miss Pray timidly. 


330 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ It will give US a chance to have lots of good 
times.” Mary Ann Perkins was always on the 
qui vive for “ good times.” 

“ That ’s so,” responded Mrs. Winchester, 
“ and I think it is high time we did something 
to draw our young people in.” 

“ Into what?” Mrs. Carter evidently did not 
ask for information alone. 

“ Why, into the church.” Mrs. White’s tone 
expressed perplexity. 

“ H’m.” Ruth looked up in surprise. It was 
a long time since she had heard her aunt give 
utterance to that expression. 

“Will you tell us what you propose to do in 
order to draw young people into the church ?” 
Mrs. Foy’s voice was very gentle. 

“ Why, allow them to enjoy themselves,” re- 
plied Mrs. Perkins. “ L^t them have plenty of 
fairs and entertainments.” 

“ I know a lovely plan,” said Florence Win- 
chester. “ Let us begin to get ready for a large 
sale to be held May day, and once in two weeks 
have an entertainment of some kind — a miisicale 
or tableaux.” 

“And will that draw them into the church ?” 
asked Mrs. Rhodes. 

“ Why, yes ! Don’t you see, if we get up a fair 
the girls will have to go to the church to get 
ready for it ; and then the entertainments will 


THE BETTER WAY. 


331 


take them there a great deal, and they will be- 
come accustomed to going there, and then per- 
haps they will attend the evening meetings,” 
said Mrs. Searles with the air of one who con- 
sidered her argument unanswerable. 

Miss Curtis had sat with folded hands, during 
this conversation, seemingly undecided which 
part to espouse. She regarded the last speaker 
intently for a moment. “ Doijs having good 
times make people real Christians?” she asked. 

Mrs. Stearns looked troubled. Some of the 
ladies evidently thought that the discussion had 
proceeded far enough. There was silence for a 
few moments and then Mrs. Carter, looking up 
with a tender light in her eyes and with rever- 
ence in her tone, said, “ My Bible says, ‘ Keep the 
charge of the sanctuary.’ ‘ For my house shall 
be called a house of prayer for all people.’ And 
‘ Ye shall .... reverence my sanctuary’.” 

There was silence again, and then Mrs. 
Searles said, “Oh, well, if you are going to 
square everything by the Bible, and spoil all 
the good times for our young folks, you must 
not be surprised if they go to churches where 
people are not so strict.” 

“ Suppose you throw the church open for 
these things,” said Aunt Ellen, “and every 
young person in the place attends them ; what 
have you gained ?” 


332 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

“ Why — ” said Mrs. Searles, and paused. 

“ I guess that ’s it,” said Miss Curtis ironi- 
cally, which remark had the happy effect of 
causing most of the ladies to laugh. 

“ My Bible,” Mrs. Carter always used the 
personal pronoun in speaking of the Bible, 
“nowhere commands or even hints at enter- 
taining young people. The word is only men- 
tioned once, and then it tells us to be careful to 
entertain strangers.” 

“I think perhaps we agree on this subject 
better than we ourselves suppose,” said Mrs. 
Livermore. “ None of us object in the least to 
the young people having a good time, but we 
may not always consider it wise to raise money 
in that way for religious purposes. I think it 
would be very pleasant for the young people to 
have a series of entertainments, and I should be 
happy to have them meet with me at any time 
for that purpose and will help them all I can ; 
but in the matter of raising money for church 
purposes I think it would be much better to 
solicit it.” 

The speaker was neither surprised nor 
moved at the exclamations which filled the 
room as she paused. A medley of voices cried, 
“ How horrid !” “ The idea of begging !” “ Peo- 
ple will not give !” 

“ But you are going to ask them to give,” 


THE BETTER WAY. 


333 


said Mrs. Carter. “You will go to the stores 
and beg remnants for fancy-work, and ask every 
one to make a loaf of cake, and contribute other 
good things, and then pay a quarter to go and 
eat them.” 

A general laugh followed this graphic de- 
scription of the entertainment plan. 

“ I cannot make that seem the Bible way,” 
replied Mrs. Livermore gently. “You know 
God says He loves ‘a cheerful giver’. We are 
His stewards, to spend at least a portion of the 
money He entrusts to our care for Him. Are 
we less generous than the people of the olden 
time, who gave for the tabernacle until Moses 
caused it to be proclaimed thoughout the camp 
that they were to cease from giving, as they 
already had more than enough ? Do we think 
less of our house of worship ?” 

“Oh, well, they were Jews,” said Mrs. Searles 
discontentedly. 

“What are we; heathen?” inquired Miss 
Curtis. 

“ I do not like to hear it said that Christian 
people will not give freely,” said Mrs. Foy, as no 
one seemed inclined to reply to Miss Curtis. 

“ I think it is a libel on them Aunt Ellen 
was thoroughly roused. “ My pocket-book was 
the last thing to be consecrated. I tell you, 
dear sisters, the Lord was not the only one I de- 


334 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


frauded during all those years, I cheated myself 
out of a great deal of pleasure. It is only re- 
cently that I have thoroughly believed the Bible 
when it says, ‘ It is more blessed to give than to 
receive.’ ” 

‘'Suppose we give every one a chance to 
try.” 

“ Will you make a motion to that effect, Mrs. 
Stearns?” asked Mrs. Rhodes, who thought the 
discussion had gone far enough. 

The motion was made, seconded and carried. 

“ What success have you had in soliciting?” 
inquired Mrs. Livermore, a few days later, as 
Aunt Ellen took her place at the dinner table. 

“ Most excellent. Almost every one seemed 
willing to give. You remember I promised sev- 
enty-five dollars.” 

“ Did you get it all ?” It was Daisy who 
asked the question. 

“ All but five dollars.” 

Daisy jumped down and ran out of the room, 
returning in a few moments with a little bank, 
the contents of which she poured into her aunt’s 
lap, with the simple remark, “ Take it.” 

“ But, Daisy Dumpling, where did you get 
so much?” inquired her aunt, looking at the 
shining dimes and quarters. 

“ It is my candy money.” 

“ All that !” 


THE BETTER WAY. 


335 


Daisy nodded. 

“ Where did you get so much ?” 

“ Papa gave it to me.” 

“To buy candy? I do not understand. I 
thought he did not like to have you eat much 
confectionery.” 

“ Well, he doesn’t,” replied Daisy, laughing 
at her aunt’s perplexed face. 

“ Then why does he give you so much to buy 
it with ?” 

The sweet little face grew sober as she said, 
“ Well, you see, ever and ever so long ago, Mr. 
Stearns preached a sermon to us little children ; 
and he told us all about the little boys and girls 
who did not have any Sunday-schools nor any 
Bibles, and they wanted teachers, and there was 
no money to send any. And then he thought 
we might earn some money, and send part of it 
there, and give a little, if only a cent a Sunday, 
here. And 'when I came home I cried because 
I could not earn any money, and the five cents 
papa gave me for Sunday-school was not mine, 
but just his giving it, and I was only a little girl 
and did n’t know what to do. And papa found 
me crying, and I told him all about it, and he 
asked me how much money I had a week to buy 
candy, and I said, most of the time none, because 
mamma and he did n’t wish me to eat it ; and he 
laughed, and said he would give me twenty-five 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


336 

cents every week ; and I must make good use 
of it.” 

'‘John Livermore,” said his sister, as Daisy 
paused for breath, “ did you wish to kill the 
child?” 

“I did not succeed, if that was my object,” 
he replied, looking with pride at the plump 
little form leaning against her aunt. 

“ What did you do then, Daisy ?” Aunt Ellen 
was very much interested. 

“ I found my hat and ran all the way to La 
Favour’s, and bought a pound of marsh mal- 
lows.” 

“ Did you eat it all ?” 

“ No, I gave some to my friends ; but when 
it came next Sunday I had to go to papa for 
my five cents again, and I didn’t know what 
to do. But when he gave me the twenty-five 
cents the next morning I thought, and took five 
cents out ; but the next Sunday again I had n’t 
any to put in the box at church ; and I thought 
and thought, and sister said she would get me 
some envelopes if I could contrive any way to 
put anything in them to keep.” 

“ But I do not understand where you got all 
this, nor why you were not sick eating so much 
candy.” 

“ Well, you see,” continued Daisy sagely, “ I 
did not have anything to put in Sunday-school 


; THE BETTER WAY. 337 

concerts, nor in the box at church, nor nothing, 
and I concluded I ’d save half of it." 

“ But there are a great many quarters here," 
said Aunt Ellen. 

“ Yes, things kept coming and coming, and I 
did n’t have anything to put in — Mission Band 
concerts and poor folks." Daisy’s grammar was 
still sometimes mixed. “And then they wanted 
books for the library, and teacher said she wished 
we would save all we could and buy a book all 
ourselves; and I wished she hadn’t said that, 
’cause I had so little." 

“ Did you save your money and buy a book ?’’ 

“Yes," replied Daisy, sighing over the mem- 
ory of the struggle. 

“ But didn’t you want candy ?" 

“ Oh, yes ; but I used to shut my eyes tight 
and run when I went by La Favour’s." 

Dear little childish preacher ! There was no 
smile this time, but each tried to hide the tears, 
feeling that it would be well for them also to 
close their eyes and hurry past temptation. 

“ But how did you happen to have so much 
now?" questioned her aunt, after a moment of 
silence. 

“ There has n’t been anything lately, and so 
I saved them ;’’ with which reply Daisy went 
back to her place. And it was a very contented 
little Daisy who ate her grapes; a very sweet 

Paths and By-Patha. 2 2 




338 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


and loving little Daisy, the others thought, look- 
ing into the pure young face. 

There was an air of expectancy on the faces 
of most of the ladies the following week when 
the president called for a report from those who 
had volunteered to solicit. 

Those who were expecting a discouraging 
reply changed countenance when the whole 
amount was announced as four hundred and 
forty-five dollars. 

“We shall have to give an entertainment 
to raise the other fifty -five,” said Mary Ann 
Perkins, “ for every one has been asked to 
give.” 

“ I know of a nice one in which we can all 
take part,” said Mrs. Carter. 

Every one looked surprised that she should 
be the one to recommend such a course. 

“ I read about it,” she continued, “ in a 
recent paper : let us all practice a week of self- 
denial and bring the money thus saved to the 
next meeting.” 

Quite a number objected, but the majority 
ruled that it should be so. 

Talking it over at the tea-table that evening 
Ruth, looking at Daisy, thought of the child’s 
self-abnegation for so long a time, and said, 
“ How would it do for me to go without des- 
serts for a week or two ?” 


THE BETTER WAY. 339 

“ What do you mean ? Sweets, fruit, coffee, 
or all three ?” 

“ I was thinking only of sweets and coffee.” 

“That would be a good way for us all,” said 
her aunt ; “ we could be miserable together.” 

“ I propose that all who are willing do with- 
out sweets and coffee,” said Mrs. Livermore. 

“ Think I will dine in the city for a week,” 
replied the doctor comically; but they all ac- 
cepted Mrs. Livermore’s suggestion. 

The fifty-five dollars were raised, and a sur- 
plus of seven dollars went into the treasury. 

“John,” said his sister, at the close of the 
week, “ do you think it was wise for you to give 
Daisy so much money for candy and not tell 
her your ideas about it ?” 

“ The result has proved the wisdom ; but if 
you mean, would it be wise with all children, I 
should reply in the negative. It took Daisy 
some time to work it out. I do not think she 
will soon forget the lesson.” 

“ She did not need it, dear little soul !” 

“We all need it ” — the doctor was very 
grave— “and we cannot commence too young to 
learn lessons in true Christian charity.” 


340 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A REUNION. 

Two years have passed uneventfully, if any 
of the years of a human life can be called un- 
eventful. It was a mild, sunny afternoon, the 
first of September. Ruth and Edith were sit- 
ting in the old room of the former, very much 
as they sat there several years ago. Ruth was 
busy with some light fancy-work, and her friend 
leaned back in the comfortable easy-chair. 

Ruth Cleaveland’s brow was as unruffled, her 
face as sweet and her eyes as clear, as Ruth 
Livermore’s had been. Edith Searles’ face 
wore a troubled look, possibly something in the 
association of the room may have caused it. 
She watched Ruth’s busy fingers for some time 
in silence, noticing the calm content of her 
face. Rousing herself after a while she said, 
“ How glad I am that we can all be together 
once more. How nice of you to think of the 
reunion for to-morrow.” 

Something almost pathetic in the intonation 
of the “ once more ” caused Ruth to look up 
quickly and say, “ I hope it will be many times 
more. We all live near Linden excepting Mr. 


A REUNION. ^41 

and Mrs. Otis, and they usually spend the sum- 
mer in the north.” 

How many changes have occurred since 
you and I used to run back and forth between 
your father s house and mine.” 

Ruth wondered at the sigh which accom- 
panied the words. 

Our number is complete, with one excep- 
tion, but we are scattered. Nannie is successful 
and happy; and so is Sarah. How she has 
changed ! More, I think, than any of us.” 

“ What a grand woman she is,” replied Ruth, 
*‘and how she works! Only to think of her 
being principal of the old academy, and to real- 
ize how many of her pupils have been con- 
verted !” 

** She is irresistible,” said Edith, with another 
involuntary sigh. 

The sigh troubled Ruth, but she thought it 
best to wait for the cause, sure that in good time 
it would be imparted. 

Edith’s next remark, however, was entirely 
foreign to her own joys or troubles. 

“And then to think of her giving three 
evenings a week to the ‘ Boys’ Club.’ It makes 
me feel like a drone.” 

“They say she is very successful there. 
Many of the boys have given up smoking and 
drinking beer.” 


34 ^ 


PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 


“ She is a faithful worker.” 

There was quiet again for a time, but thought 
was evidently busy. 

Do you remember our conversation on For- 
eign Missions, in this room, a few years ago ? I 
believe we occupied these identical chairs.” 

Ruth felt sure that she was approaching the 
cause of her friend’s disquietude. “ Yes, I re- 
member ; it proved to be only talk, however.” 

“ As far as I am concerned, yes. - But you— 
do you remember, Ruth ? — you advocated Home 
Mission work. And I could see enough when I 
was in Petersburg to convince me that you were 
doing your part faithfully there. Do you re- 
member, you thought any one who was unwill- 
ing to invite her own acquaintances to come to 
Christ would make but little progress with stran- 
gers?” 

My dear Edith, I believe there is a work for 
every one. It may not always be just what we 
would choose, but that is nothing to the point ; 
the question is, are we willing to do the Master’s 
work in his way?” 

I believe you all are, excepting myself.” 
There were tears in Edith’s voice. “ The life of 
every one of us has rounded out and is full of 
promise, excepting my own. Bessie has a Sun- 
day-school class, several of her scholars have 
united v/ith the church ; and she is Secretary of 


A REUNION. 


343 


the Foreign Missionary Society. Ethel spends 
a great deal of her time visiting the sick and the 
poor, and she always says some word or reads 
the Bible to them, and several who have joined 
the church trace their conversion to her influ- 
ence. But I have done nothing.” 

“Are you not too hard on yourself, dear 
Edith ?” 

“ No !” And the tears would be restrained 
no longer. “You know I told you, when we 
were girls, that I thought I ought to speak to 
my friends. One after another were presented 
to me and I refused, and, oh, to-night I am 
very miserable.” 

Ruth tried to comfort her, but she could not 
conscientiously do so without pointing to duty. 

“ It is not too late to commence now,” she 
said. “lam sure you regret your past failures. 
You know you can be forgiven for those. The 
promise is sure that, ‘ If we confess our sins ’ 
and forsake them, ‘ he is faithful and just to 
forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all 
unrighteousness’, 

“ That is just it. I am ready to confess, but 
the forsaking — Ruth, I have come to the point 
where I can never be happy again until I speak 
to a certain person, and I can never do it. And 
not only my happiness but the usefulness of an- 
other depends upon it. What shall I do?” 


344 


PATHS AND PY-PATH^. 


What could Ruth say? Edith knew what 
she ought to do, what she must do. It was no 
time to encourage disobedience, and, while Ruth 
sympathized with her friend, she wisely re- 
mained silent. 

Edith wept for a few moments and then said, 
“You will all be so happy to-morrow but me, 
and it was so kind of you to think of inviting us 
all here.” 

Tears filled Ruth’s eyes as she said, “ I am 
sure, dear Edith, that I cannot be quite happy 
while you feel sad ; but you can make us both 
glad if you will only take hold of the grace 
which is sufficient.” 

“ Oh, if I had only yielded before ! You know 
I could not even speak to little Merry ; and now 
it is my mother — and you know she does not 
care for these things at all ; does not even be- 
lieve as we do.” 

“ I know just how hard it is, Edith. I have 
fought over just such duties. If I were you 
I would not give it more thought, but would go 
home and speak to her immediately.” 

“ I will go home,” said Edith, rising ; “that is 
easy, but the other — I cannot.” 

Ruth was very quiet after the closing of the 
door told her that she was alone. Her mind 
went back to the time when Edith and herself 
were children, and with warm childish love 


A REUNION. 


34 ? 

promised to follow the Saviour. Then she 
thought of that lovely September afternoon, 
several years ago, when they with Merry and 
Richard rested under the glowing maples and 
the latter advocated the playing of cards and 
attending the theatre. 

She recalled the eagerness with which Edith 
listened and the ready assent she gave. She had 
not attended the theatre after her conversion, 
but from that time she did not scruple to go. 
She had not thought of it, specially, at the time ; 
but looking back, now, she could see that Edith 
had always been anxious to please Richard. 
Would her life have been different but for that 
afternoon ? And had Richard’s influence on 
the wrong side ended there ? 

Ruth was ready early to receive her friends, 
the next afternoon. She took a seat by the open 
window and smiled as she thought how often 
she had sat there watching for the same friends 
she hoped so soon to welcome. Her heart was 
full of tender memories : her childhood was not 
so far in the past but that its scenes were very 
real to her. How she loved these dear friends ! 
She hoped nothing would ever happen to inter- 
rupt their intercourse, but, if aught should, they 
were all travelling the same way. Even if their 
paths diverged here they would meet at last, 
and a glorious eternity was before them. 


346 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she 
did not notice the click of the gate nor hear a 
light step as it crossed the piazza, but she rose 
as the door opened. A moment she looked at 
the person that entered, and then, exclaiming. 
“ Edith, dear Edith !” threw her arms around 
her. “ Oh, I am so glad,” she continued. 

“ How did you know?” questioned her friend. 

^‘Your face tells the story,” replied Ruth, 
looking lovingly at the peaceful countenance so 
near her. “ It was not so very difficult, was it ?” 

“Yes, oh, yes ! I thought for a while I could 
not, but some unseen influence urged me on, 
and finally, in sheer desperation, I yielded. I 
do not know that it has done one bit of good, 
but I never was so happy in my life ; but oh, 
Ruth! think of the years that I have wasted.” 

“ ‘ Look not mournfully into the past, 

It comes not back again, 

Wisely improve the present, it is thine.’ ” 

quoted Ruth. 

“ What a comfort you are to me, dear Ruth. 
I did not tell you how much depended upon 
that decision. It was not alone the inviting 
another to come to Christ ; my whole life will 
probably be changed.” 

“ Here you are,” interrupted a cheery voice, 
and Ethel came into the room. “ How glad I 
am it is such a pleasant day. Here they come !” 


A REUNION. 


347 


And Ruth, welcoming her other friends, had 
no opportunity to hear the rest of the inter- 
rupted sentence. 

The moments flew quickly by as they chatted 
gaily, speaking of their school-days and of the 
incidents which had occurred in their individ- 
ual lives since, and then came the summons to 
tea. 

The table was very inviting, with its snowy 
damask, cut-glass and silver. Beside each plate 
was a bouquet of Aunt Ellen’s selection. 

There were orchids for Ruth — “priceless,” 
Paul said ; roses, deep crimson and creamy 
white, for Queen Nan ; fringed crysanthe- 
mums for Bessie ; spicy pinks for Ethel ; and 
Mary wondered if she were at all like the shy 
blue violets placed for her. “Aunt Ellen would 
not have given these to me once,” thought 
Sarah, as her eye fell on the great purple pan- 
sies, which she touched lovingly. Edith read 
the message of “ ecstasy ” in the fragrant cape 
jessamine, and Daisy held up a bouquet of 
mignonette, heliotrope, tuberoses and every- 
thing that was sweet. “Just like her,” Ralph 
said. 

At the end of the table lay a bunch of tiny 
blue forget-me-nots. There was no plate, no 
chair, and the girls looking at the little blos- 
soms hushed their happy voices, and thought 


348 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

they did not need the flowers to remind them 
of dear little Merry. 

And then they all bowed their heads while 
Paul invoked the divine blessing on the bounty 
spread before them. Long they lingered at the 
table and they were very happy. They spoke 
of work — what they hoped to do in the future. 

“You make me feel as though I were doing 
nothing,” said Clarence Parmenter rather rue- 
fully. “ I believe I will give up my office and 
convert it into a reading-room for bootblacks 
and newsboys.” 

“ I think, Mr. Parmenter,” said Paul, “ there 
will be no need for you to give up your busi- 
ness. We cannot all be ministers and mission- 
aries, but whether we eat or whether we drink, 
or whatsoever we do, we are to do all to please 
the Lord Jesus ; nothing else will stand the test 
at the last day.” 

“Amen.” It was Richard who responded 
earnestly. “ I have not done this of late years, 
but I have resolved to start anew.” 

Ruth sent up a quick though silent thanks- 
giving. Her prayer had been answered. 

“You who knew me when I was first con- 
verted,” resumed Richard, “know that I was 
thoroughly in earnest. I had high aspirations 
then for the future. It is needless for me to 
say that they have never been fulfilled. Why 


A REUNION. 


349 


I left the straight and narrow way for worldly 
pleasures I can never tell. It was not because 
they were attractive at first.” 

“Did they not soon become so?” inquired 
Ralph. 

“ I think I yielded in the beginning thought- 
lessly, and because I did not like to say no. I 
had always taken great pride in my supposed 
strength. Perhaps my Heavenly Father saw it 
was the only way I could be taught my weak- 
ness and that I should rely wholly upon him. 
The more I attended the theatre and card- 
parties the less I cared for spiritual things. I 
still attended church and kept up the form of 
prayer, but I had no relish for it. I was faith- 
fully warned by my parents and friends, but 
soon argued myself into the belief that most of 
these friends were extremely narrow in their 
views. Of course I considered myself very lib- 
eral, and looked with pity on those who were 
leading consistent Christian lives.” 

“ Were you really happy ?” inquired Bessie 
as he paused a moment. 

“As I look back now, no ! emphatically, no ! 
as a year ago last January revealed the fact to me. 
I went home from the last meeting of the week 
of prayer feeling spiritually dead, and taking up 
my Bible opened it at the sixth chapter of Jere- 
miah. I read mechanically until I reached the 


350 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

sixteenth verse, ‘ Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye 
in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, 
where is the good way, and walk therein, and 
ye shall find rest for your souls.’ 

It was rest for my soul that I needed, that I 
now really wished, and I resolved to follow the 
direction contained in the verse, and commenced 
at once to ask for the old paths, and, as best I 
could, to walk therein. As I was thoroughly in 
earnest I soon found the good way. Not that 
there was any great change in my feelings, but 
rather an earnest purpose to persevere ; and to- 
night I am happy with the old happiness. 

“ About six months ago, one day there came 
to me suddenly a thought which had impressed 
me years ago. I could not take my Bible to read, 
no matter where I opened it, that there did not 
seem written in letters of gold the words, ‘ Go 
ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to 
every creature.’ 

“ I soon found,” he continued, “ that I was not 
only losing all peace again but was walking in 
the way of disobedience, and finally I yielded, 
and made a complete surrender. The obstacles 
were removed one after another. 

“ I beg your pardon for taking so much of 
your time, but I knew you were all interested. 
No others will ever take the places of these dear 
friends of my childhood and of you all. In a 


A REUNION. 


351 


few weeks, if my life is spared, the ocean will 
roll between us ; but if we never meet again on 
this earth the thought is joy that we shall all 
meet on the other shore, in a reunion that will 
know no parting.” 

Tears were flowing freely now, but in the 
midst of the strange, sweet sadness all won- 
dered that Mary should grieve so, for she was 
sobbing audibly. 

Her sister left her place and stood beside her, 
resting one hand affectionately on the bowed 
head. Her face was pale and her dark eyes 
filled with an intense look of earnestness, but 
her clear voice had a triumphant ring as she 
said, “ I am so happy to-night. Now the way is 
made clear to me. For a year I have longed to 
carry this blessed Gospel of Peace to those who 
have never heard it. I have spoken of my in- 
tention to no one here but my mother and sister, 
because the way until this evening has been 
hedged. 

Mother gave her consent at once. You 
know she is always ready to sacrifice for the 
good of others.” For the first time Sarah’s 
voice faltered, but she steadied it and went on. 
“ She only asked that I would wait until there 
were others going, even if they were strangers. 
I applied to the Board a few months ago and was 
accepted, and have been waiting since for an op- 


352 PATHS AND BY-PATHS. 

portunity — and now it has come. How glad I 
am !” 

Surprise kept them all silent for awhile and 
then they all knelt while Paul poured out the 
feelings of their hearts in thanksgiving for the 
kindness and wonderful patience of their Heav- 
enly Father. Very earnest were the petitions 
which followed for a blessing upon each one 
in the work which lay before them. 

Few words were spoken as they rose, and 
bidding their host and hostess good night, quiet- 
ly took their departure. 

Ruth pushed aside the crimson drapery and 
standing with Paul in the recess of the deep 
window watched them as they walked slowly 
down the winding path to the gate. 

“ How joyous the thought,” she said, “ that 
we are all walking in the straight and narrow 
way now, and none of us find it too straight or 
too narrow and we shall all meet at last when 
the path ends in cloudless day.” 










— .' 4 » •! * 

1 iiT^ fe « -. 


VWi 


• I 




1 m 


X 


•k » lit* 

*‘\ X \ 


tf*'* 








-p] 




V? 


Fa' 


j +3 


■^^•- ' f\ 
t 


m • 1 

;. * •rii 


V 


f< 








J t 




.. y^) 


T< 


» * • Jls\ * A ’ 

L^y"'’ •’P. .vTO-i''' 


o., 






Ik V- 


0/j 


.»fy -t m 


I 4 




•; . '. ‘• 


./r. 




tff / 


Vi 


4 ff. 


r 




Tiifl . 


«. ■>. 


V- 


^ *. * 


r^*-* 


■Tm 


fen r>-' 

f* rr-t V ' ’ "-hA'^CvS 

h .4 Vi rv f ■ WlA& 


,' , *. ■ -, -- ■^- »? , „ 

r ' .I. i - i r-^.'n -> 

. \ 9 . 


> . 


♦ 








- x 








^}^y) 






♦V 




>r 




r ' 


T 




« * 




/ 3 ^ « / 3 ' ' **JBP 


'<r.<.\' 






V .- 




^ w»v ■•V - 

^ V- ^ 

*-i.* ■ * ' 


»» 






. \ 


.1 jk 



ii 


0l»- 


. •? 




iA > V ' 

[Vt- * *v?:^ 


L* • 1 W#%k.SR-- 

- . 

-OK- i£?''k^-.*‘.''.iliJ4i^^.,*.' 




.10 VM 


'-C 








<;« 


•* *i 

- / 

I u 


^ ^ ■% 


f u 


'411 


•* * 'i 







.4 k. 


• 0 C*rj 




I , . '•_ « 





. # 




'M 


•y. 




'^■rxr 


•■ ' ■■■ ■ .V-w'. .'. >cV:4$5^ 










>mc 










r ' .,' V-' I J '"— .' '•' '^‘. ,vU V- 5 ^^ 

;£y'' VtS, ^vhCi'- Vt- T. :.• 




K' 






«» -? 






«>. 








y> 


V. 


>r 






Si 




LJ^' 




> 


:3<‘/ 








>^1: 


Vi': 




.’TM 




=.:? 






-J‘ , ,:.' ^ 


J-.fcj-. •• - • V 

:;.v- • :;C^-r’, * ^ 




V ? 1^ 








M 




t*r 


i.^x/ 




Ur'S 








V 




V. i 












ti 






j;Vv- 




7: ->i.'’ 




*Hr: 


■a? 


^fc-V- 


■4 


V 


i 






.rL 


ills 








•' *>- 


1/ 




^’VV^ 


r:^ 




d<ij 


-O' 




L. ' > - . I * 

i'’ - -"M : 1 •“ . 


m 


i 


V; 




Sy' 




^ ^ - > 1 ' 




^v;?^ -C 




x~ -• 




* t» 


.^y< 


I**' 




'Vi/ 


''frr 






.t- 'Si. 


to 




L*^-. 




A>' 


'■ 1 . 




>7f 


*\KP 


'/ 


Uj- 






^Ifv ^,‘V. 




••/■ "S! 






> 
























t t J'.'J 




Mm 






’F^ 








MiM 


, ■ '•'s#'-.. 






"K 


.*c- 




.'Ui* 






vUs 






-•if. 




/c 




ce 






v«-*. 










M 


-trrf- 


> . 






r 


-■‘Mm 






'Sr, 


-•. .i'.v- 


/:'“Sji^ 






iK 




a 


Xj 




‘•-7 










i! 


vl 




sV- 


'^9 


rn'r^d- 


Mi 




vr^s. 


Al 


V' ^ ^)ki 


V? 


- J-t 


u;?’ 








'VX* 


Sa 


>1^ 


'fc 




% 


>■ 










s. ii 




iv r 








A-- Si-' 


,7 -v' 


wy- 


- A./A- 


y. 


' S 


AcV 






l»^-K 




'HS' 




i>ii 




■s-?. 


Jr^. 


A' 


A 


‘SW. 


■ aS) 


(.* 'i. 






■{>P 


ji 




M'. 






Yi 










tj; 








•-y 






"i 


I 

X; 




y- 


&Vi 


iVvr 




NuT^ 


>5/, 


V A 


/ 




“t t: 


^ 1 ; 






73:->4 


'n. 




|y.*^ 






‘Vj 




yki 


v;-' 


vy' 


*y 


■iK 




-A' 




»v5b. 






•>-AA' 












J- .>J^: 
















Swi' 




_X 


■S‘^' 


-^ / . a 


■H'v- 






■'A' -_■ 


A > y,, 

: . ' ^ *,r . . Sm .i*: 

■- V, : ■■. 


l..y.--^ 




■'*./''• ‘-iJ 


a:^.. 











1^ 



\ 


i 




k 

• « 


i 







UBRARV --- 



0G02Ea4aiH6 


